The Widening Gyre
by gogosummer
Summary: Ginny is asked to join Snape's advanced potions lecture.  Draco is swiftly approaching his 17th birthday and induction into Voldemort's inner circle.  Together, they can change the destiny of the wizarding world - but will it be for good or evil?
1. An Unexpected Invitation

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter, and all characters/things related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

A/N: This story takes place during Ginny's 5th year and Draco/the trio's 6th year. It's GoF compliant but not compliant with the last three books. Comments greatly appreciated. Also, if you'd be interested in being a Beta reader, please message me.

She lay sideways in the chair, her legs thrown over one of its arms. The rest of her body was nestled deep in the cushions. She sighed and ran the fingers of her left hand through her scarlet curls. Dark circles smudged under her eyes. Spread over her lap was a copy of _Dangerous Wizards of the Dark Ages. _ She had an essay due in two days for Professor Binns but had yet to do any significant work on it.

The fire flickered in its grate. No one else was in the common room this late. No one ever was. Since her first year, Ginny had taken to staying up all hours of the night. Originally, it had been a fear of going to sleep; when she started at Hogwarts five years ago, there had been no guarantee that once she went to bed, she would stay there. She awoke at different times in different places, sometimes covered in paint and feathers, on a few occasions covered in blood. The possession may have stopped, but the nightmares hadn't. Even now, two nights out of three she would wake up sweating and breathless, his name bubbling over her lips. _Tom._

The dark lord wasn't only visiting Harry in dreamland. Not that anyone had ever cared to notice.

Ginny had long ago decided to simply stop sleeping. It was possible, she discovered, though it did take a lot of work. Once a month she slipped off to a seemingly long-forgotten alcove of the dungeons to brew a batch of what she dubbed Sleepless Spirits. It was her own combination: a blend of Wakefulness Draught, Pepper-Up Potion, and a bit of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey.

Early batches omitted the whiskey and caused her hands to tremble uncontrollably, making it difficult to even hold a quill steady. The Odgen's helped take off the edge. It required a bit of bribery on her part to get it, but luckily Fred and George were more than happy to help their little sister stray onto the path moral ambiguity. She told them she and her roommates would have a nip on the roof some Saturday nights. They accepted this explanation, as it was the type of thing they were likely to do. In reality, half a bottle got dumped into her potion every month.

She did sleep upon occasion. She had to, after all, or her body would eventually give out on her. But those nights were painful affairs_. She'd be down in the chamber, flat on her back with the frigid stone floor underneath her. Tom would stand over her and laugh, the youthful and infectious laugh of a joyful young boy in the peak of health, a laugh that made her shiver from the tendrils of her fiery hair to the tips of her toes. He'd kneel down next to her and stroke her cheek with one long finger. His face would hover over his own, lips coming down to hers, and then –_

Ginny shuddered. She'd never told anyone about her dreams, and certainly couldn't after third year, when they had taken a decidedly _inappropriate_ turn. Her roommates had accepted her silence and had long since stopped remarking on her night terrors, for which Ginny was grateful. Waking up with her heart thundering against her ribcage and her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps was enough; she didn't want the added embarrassment of explaining just why she was feeling that way – terrified to the bone, sick to her stomach, but unbelievably, incredibly… _exhilarated_.

A disturbing thought, that. Ginny shook her head and tried to push the subject far out of her mind. She avoided closer examination at all costs.

A log broke in the fireplace, making sparks fly from the glowing embers. The noise brought Ginny back to reality. She sighed, picked up her book, and tried to finish the chapter before daybreak.

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"As the name suggests, the Ageing Potion will cause the drinker to increase in age in direct proportion to the amount consumed…"

It was Monday morning. The eyes of the fifth year Gryffindors glazed over as Professor Snape explained the day's assignment. Ginny watched the professor through lazy, half-lidded eyes. Class would be even easier today than usual; Ginny had brewed this exact potion two years earlier for her brothers and Lee Jordan when they wanted to trick the Goblet of Fire into accepting their names. She remembered the long white beards that had sprouted from the twins' chins as the Goblet through them back from the age line; she sniggered.

"Does something amuse you, Miss Weasley?" asked Snape coldly. "Interesting as you undoubtedly find my instructions, I don't believe they warrant such mirth."

"Sorry, Professor," mumbled Ginny, blushing. The Slytherin students threw triumphant smirks at her.

"Now that Miss Weasley has regained her composure, you may begin," Snape snapped. "For each drop of potion you drink, you will age one month. At the end of class, you will consume a fourth of a beaker of your own potion. If successfully brewed, you should appear approximately ten years older than you are now. The effects of the particular brew listed in your textbook will wear off in three hours unless you consume the antidote. Any questions?" The twisted scowl on his face suggested that, had there actually been any questions, they would have resulted in immediate points from whoever dared to ask them. "Good. Instructions are on page 342 of the text. You may begin."

Ginny flipped to page 342 and began to unpack her ingredients. Two black caterpillars, powered doxie wings, a drop of essence of belladonna…

She mixed the ingredients carefully and left her potion to simmer. After forty minutes, she added the belladonna and stirred clockwise. The potion, which had been a sickly puce, faded to a very light, clear pink. She smiled, satisfied.

"Time!" said Snape loudly. "Beaker your potion and prepare to be tested. Mr. Aymslowe," he glared at a Gryffindor boy in the first row. "You first." Arnold Aymslowe lifted his beaker to his lips, fingers trembling. The solution inside was purple. He carefully swallowed and put his beaker down.

It was as if someone had given the rest of the class a time turner. Arnold shot up three inches and back down four. His troubled skin became clear and firm and then started to sag and wrinkle. His back twisted upon itself, and a light grey beard shot from his chin. He looked at least eighty.

Snape looked at him with contempt. "Disappointing, Mr. Aymslowe, as usual." He turned to the rest of the class. "Do any of you know why he failed so abysmally?"

No one answered. Sighing inwardly, Ginny raised her hand.

"Miss Weasley?"

"The belladonna." She said. "He added too much essence of belladonna."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "And how did you come to that conclusion?" he asked nastily.

_God, the man was such a prat_. "He's far older than he should be, but fine otherwise, which suggests the only part of the potion that was misbrewed was the aging agent. Traditionally, belladonna is used to bring one closer to death." She gestured at Arnold. "He obviously got a bit closer than he was supposed to, so it must be the belladonna."

"Correct." He glared at the rest of the class. "It would do you all good to remember that we are not in your mother's kitchen making Christmas cookies. We are concocting dangerous potions that may make you seriously ill if brewed incorrectly. You can't just go tossing about whatever you wish." His eyes glittered. "Mr. Aymslowe, ten points from Gryffindor, and next time check your measurements. You're lucky you're not dead."

Arnold paled beneath his wrinkles. Snape smiled wryly, and Ginny rolled her eyes. Though it was true that essence of belladonna, if taken in extreme amounts, could actually kill someone, the amount they were allowed to carry in their potions kit would scarcely even put anyone in a coma. Still, Ginny couldn't blame the man for his exaggeration. He had to get his kicks somehow.

Snape must have noticed the eye roll. "Miss Weasley, perhaps with your advanced understanding of the potion, you'd like to be next?"

Ginny stood up, unafraid, her face indifferent. She swallowed the contents of her beaker in one gulp.

Without warning, she shot up an inch. Her hair grew longer and turned a deeper, more luminous red. The youthful softness of her face melted away to reveal high, artistically chiseled cheekbones. To her extreme embarrassment, she felt her chest and hips swell under her robes. She could feel the buttons of her shirt digging into her chest. They strained and threatened to pop off. _No wonder Snape told us to wear loose clothes today_, she thought.

Just then, the door to the potions classroom banged open. "Professor," drawled a lazy voice. In walked an older boy with a pale, pointed face and blonde hair. "McGonagall wants to—" Draco Malfoy stopped mid-sentence. His icy grey eyes widened in shock as he locked eyes with Ginny. "Holy shit." He blinked. "Weasley?" Her face flushed, but she didn't look away.

_Say one word, Malfoy._ She thought viciously. _Say one word and I swear, I'll-_

"Mr. Malfoy!" shouted Snape, over the students' smothered laughs. "Please refrain from that language in my classroom. Now, what is so important that you find it necessary to interrupt my class with your obscenities?"

"Professor McGonagall," he said, still staring at Ginny. "She wants to see Colin Creevey."

"Creevey!" snapped Snape. Colin Creevey, whose attention had also been captured by his suddenly-voluptuous classmate, shot up out of his seat. "Go." Colin grabbed his bag and ran out of the classroom, anxious to leave before Snape asked him to test his potion. Draco was still standing near the doorway. "Mr. Malfoy, unless you have anything else to say, please leave."

"What? Oh, yes, Professor." He shook his head, as if to clear himself out of a daze. He furrowed his eyebrows and left the class.

Snape cleared his throat. Ginny suddenly became aware that the whole class was staring at her; the boys' mouths were half-open in shock. She blushed again and fervently wished she were at the bottom of the lake.

"Tolerable," said Snape. "If you would take the antidote, Miss Weasley." He dropped a small vial into her hand. She looked up. Her eyes met his, and she thought she saw something there– not quite pride, but certainly not the hatred he usually reserved for students in her house. It was as if he had received an affirmative answer to an important question.

She uncorked the vial and drank it. Even after her usual appearance had been restored, a few people were still staring at her. She tried her best to ignore them. The rest of the class passed uneventfully, although most of the students had missed the correct age by several decades. When the last student had been tested and poor Arnold Aymslowe had finally been given his antidote, Snape dismissed the class.

"Miss Weasley, please stay behind. I'd like a word."

Ginny froze with her hand half-stretched toward her bag. She turned to look at Snape. He had returned to his desk and was calmly marking down notes on a sheet of paper. He didn't look at her.

Her roommates threw sympathetic glances over their shoulders as they left the room. She nervously approached Professor Snape's desk. She was the only one in class who hadn't ended up as a grandmother or a baby, so it couldn't have been about the quality of her potion. Perhaps he remembered the eye roll and was going to give her a special lecture on decorum?

She stood in front of him. He looked up at her. "Miss Wealsey," he began. His tone was one of cool indifference, and it lacked the malice he usually reserved for lectures. "I have been watching your progress over the last few years, and it has come to my attention that you seem to be unusually gifted in potions."

Ginny blinked in shock. This was the closest to a compliment she had ever heard him utter. "Professor?"

He continued in the same bland tone. "On Thursday evenings I instruct a special potions course for selected students. We research and brew advanced and experimental potions. We also keep the infirmary well-stocked in basic medical potions such as Pepper-Up and Dreamless Sleep."

Ginny's eyebrows perked up. She had been prevented from brewing Dreamless Sleep because several of the ingredients were not allowed in the basic student ingredient kits. The potion was highly addictive, and Madam Pomfrey didn't just casually give it out to any student who said they had trouble sleeping. If she had a definite access to Dreamless Sleep, maybe she'd be able to have a normal schedule again…

"The class would not be for credit. Rather, the experience and knowledge would serve as its own reward. And, of course, if you intend to attempt the NEWT in Potions, you'll find the practice invaluable."

Ginny frowned. "It's only for selected students?" asked Ginny. "So the best of all the classes, right? Why haven't I heard about this from Hermione, then? Shouldn't she be in it?"

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows. "Miss Granger," he said dryly, "was not invited to partake in the class. Suffice to say that some great things can be achieved through practice, but others require skill." He pressed his lips firmly together, unwilling to say any more.

"So you think I have this skill, then?" asked Ginny.

Professor Snape looked at her calculatingly. He clasped his hands on top of his ledger, his long, slender fingers interlocked. "As much as it is a science, potion making is an art, and it requires a certain amount of intuition. The difference between a stir and a half stir, between twenty seconds and ten. I've watched you very carefully. You know what to do and when to do it, even if no one has told you. That's intuition."

She opened her mouth to speak again, and he held up his right hand, palm flat and facing toward her. "Miss Weasley, I am not here to pander to your teenage vanity." Ginny's mouth clamped shut. "I feel you have the potential to be a very skilled potions maker. If you choose to join my class, you can cultivate that potential. If not, I will be disappointed in you, but you are the only one who will suffer. You will have squandered an opportunity to increase your skill set and better yourself." He put his hand down. "I will give you a week to think it over."

Ginny blinked. She didn't particularly like Snape, but she was flattered at what he had said. While she realized she had a knack for making potions, she had no idea she possessed any potential to be profoundly _good_ at it. Everyone else seemed to be profoundly good at things – Fred and George had quidditch, Harry had beating dark wizards and saving the world, and Hermione had… well, basically everything else. Even Ron, when he wasn't being a git, was incredibly loyal and brave. She suppressed a grin. Maybe she had a niche after all. Not to mention the easy access to the medi-potions to reclaim her sleep.

"I don't need a week," she said, her eyes narrowed and her face determined. "I'm in."

Professor Snape smiled thinly. "Thursday at 7:30, here, Miss Weasley. Don't be late."

Ginny nodded sharply, turned, and walked out of the dungeon. She smiled, anticipating the look on Ron's face when she told him she was taking extra potions and the look on Hermione's when the girl learned there was an advanced class she had not been asked to take.

Ginny glanced down at her watch and yelped; five minutes to Transfiguration. She sprinted down the corridor. If she hurried, she'd still be on time.

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Draco Malfoy was not a man who liked to be surprised.

Cool. Calculated. Suave. Those were words he would have used to describe himself (He also would have picked "devilishly handsome" and "sex god," but that wasn't related to the issue at hand). He prided himself on his ability to control his emotions in any situation. As his father always said, one must be in control or they would be controlled. Draco was in control.

Which was why he was so irritated today. He angrily stabbed a sausage. It was dinner; he was sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his usual crowd. Pansy was telling some sort of inane story to the other girls. Crabbe and Goyle were noisily stuffing their faces, as per usual. Draco sat silently, thinking about what he had seen earlier that day.

That damn red-headed chit of a girl. Who did she think she was? Making him look like a fool in front of all those students! Making a professor, the only one Draco respected, speak sharply to the boy! It was inexcusable. He was angry at himself for letting her catch him off guard. He was angry at her for doing it. He speared a boiled potato.

What made it worse was that he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. Hair like blood spilled across flagstones, blazing like fire in the semi-darkness of the dungeons. Eyes the deep brown of strong tea, sharp and embarrassed and defiant. Those curves, round and hard like Fuji apples; her crisp white flesh something he'd like to sink his teeth into and get a juicy taste of. His heart quickened, and he could feel his blood shooting through his veins to all parts of his body. She had been positively… _ethereal_.

His flicked his eyes over to the Gryffindor table. She was sitting with her brother, Potter, and Granger. She casually spooned potato soup into her mouth. Underneath the softness of her face, he could see traces of the woman she would become. He watched her as she ate, the spoon rising and going into her mouth (a perfect cupid's bow with plump, girlish lips). He was hypnotized, watching her bring the spoon to her mouth, then back down to the bowl, then to her mouth again. When she had finished her soup, she licked the edge of the spoon. Draco felt the little hairs on the back of his neck bristle. It was obscene. How could her brother sit there and allow her to exhibit such lascivious behavior?

"Don't you agree, Draco?" Pansy's voice cut through his thoughts like a hatchet. He turned toward her, eyes cold. Her hard little face looked at him expectantly. She raised both her dark brown eyebrows. "Well?"

"Pansy, _darling_," the endearment was dripping with contempt. "I haven't been following your conversation."

"I was just telling Millicent how they shouldn't allow mudbloods to be prefects. It debases the position." She used the sleeve of her school robe to polish the small silver badge on her chest. "I can't believe they still let Granger run around here as if she were _one of us._"

Draco's attention had already wandered away from the girl. "Quite," he said, hoping to shut her up. She smiled, evidently pleased with his response, and turned back to Millicent. He looked back up at the Gryffindor table.

Potter, Granger, and Weasley were deep in conversation. Ginny was watching then, a mildly irritated expression on her face. She opened her mouth and said something. The other three students immediately stopped talking and turned to gawk at her.

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"Snape asked me to join his advanced potions class."

Ron, Harry and Hermione had been animatedly debating what they were planning on doing next Hogsmeade weekend. Ginny had tried to get a word in edgewise and had mostly been ignored. Now, though, the three all turned to stare at her. Ginny tried to hide a satisfied smirk.

"He asked you _what_?" asked Ron, incredulously.

"To join his advanced potions class. It meets every Thursday night."

"What advanced potions class?" asked Hermione anxiously. "What are you talking about? Surely I would have heard about—"

"It's only for invited students," continued Ginny. "He told me he thought I had potential."

"Potential? What?" Ron sputtered, spraying the table with tiny bits of chewed ham. "The man's a complete nightmare! I hope you told him he could take his potential and shove it right up his—"

"I decided to join the class."

"You did _what_? Are you nuts?" demanded Ron. "You don't even _like_ potions, no one does! Do you need extra credit or something? Because if it's your grades, Ginny, we can help you." He gestured toward the others with his fork.

Ginny frowned. "I like potions," she said. "And, no offense Ron, but I don't think I really need any help from you. Didn't you almost fail your OWL? Besides, I've had an A since second year."

"No you haven't. The only person to get a good grade in Potions is Hermione! Well, and maybe Malfoy, that slimy git. Bet his dad bribes the OWL committee…"

"She has, Ron," interjected Hermione. "Ginny's really good. Though I still don't understand why I haven't heard of this class."

Ginny was both grateful for the compliment and highly amused at Hermione's presumptuousness. "Thanks, Hermione. And like I said, it's by invitation only." At this, Hermione looked mildly panicked. "I'm sure Professor Snape knew you were already so busy," she added quickly. "Don't you go to Professor Vector's Abstract Arithmancy lecture on Thursdays?"

"Well, yes, that's true," conceded Hermione, looking less worried. "That's probably it. And Arithmancy's my favorite subject; I can't imagine going to Potions instead! Of course, they're both so incredibly useful…"

"Useful? Potions?" Ron snorted. "About as useful as a hole in the head."

"Just because you don't do anything except sit around blathering on about old Quidditch matches doesn't mean no one else wishes to learn something practical!" snapped Hermione.

"I can't imagine-" said Harry loudly, trying to squash Ron and Hermione's argument before it really got going. "—what would make you want to spend any more time with Snape than you would have to." He smiled good-naturedly. "But he wouldn't ask you if he didn't think you could do it. Congratulations, Ginny. I had no idea."

Ginny smiled broadly. Years ago, the compliment would have turned her bones to butter and caused her to melt out of her seat and onto the floor. She had gotten over the worst of that girlish crush, but there was still a small part of her that adored the Boy Who Lived. "Thank you, Harry," she said. She shot a glare at her brother.

"Mental," said Ron, as he shook his head. "Absolutely mental." He stuffed some carrots in his mouth.

"What sort of things will you be studying?" ask Hermione.

"Oh, well, he didn't really specify. But I do know we'll be making a lot of the potions for the Hospital Wing."

"Wow!" Hermione was clearly impressed. "Those are really difficult to make. I had no idea they were brewed by students! Medical potions, that'll be so fascinating."

Ron made a rude noise in the back of this throat. Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes.

"Yes, I think it will be," said Ginny, reaching for a roll. "I'm actually really excited about it."

Ron scowled and muttered darkly into his plate. Ginny ignored him.

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	2. The First Class

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter, and all characters/things related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

A/N: This story takes place during Ginny's 5th year and Draco/the trio's 6th year. It's GoF compliant but not compliant with the last three books. Comments greatly appreciated.

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It was 7:25. Ginny was standing in the hall near the potions classroom, her heart nervously pounding despite herself. Her mind wavered between two choices: just walk right into the classroom or turn and run as fast as she possibly could in the other direction. She was terrified of going to class and discovering that all the other students were way beyond her level. She could just imagine the looks on everyone's faces as she walked in – little Ginny, who had never showed herself to be particularly outstanding at anything, what was _she_ doing there? She could hear their titters as she made a mistake; she could see the disappointment and resentment in Snape's eyes as she-

"Ginny? What are you doing down here?"

Ginny jumped in surprise. She turned around to see Katie Bell, 7th year and member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, coming toward her.

"Katie?" she said, surprised. "I'm going to potions." Her face flushed in embarrassment. "Snape invited me for his special class."

Katie frowned. "But you're only a 5th year. This class is for 6th and 7th years."

"Well, um, he told me to come…" Ginny trailed off, slightly confused. Had she misunderstood Snape? Was this the right time? Surely he wouldn't have put her with the upperclassmen…

"Cor, you must be really good then." Katie grinned quickly. "Don't worry about it. It'll be nice to have another Gryffindor."

Ginny looked surprised. "You're the only one?"

"Just me," said Katie, smiling. "And barely, at that. You know Snape; high standards, especially for those of us unfortunates not in Slytherin."

"Well, I'm glad you're here, at least. I didn't know you were so good at potions."

"Yeah, I'm pretty decent. But, of course, I'd appreciate it if you, uh, didn't mention this to your brothers."

Ginny blinked. "Who, Fred and George? Why would they care? They aren't even at school anymore."

"I know," said Katie. "But we still talk, and you know they'd never stop taking the piss out of me if they found out. Same goes for the Quidditch team. It's bad for my reputation."

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. "I know what you mean."

"So I'll keep your secret if you keep mine?"

Ginny grimaced. "Too late for me. Told Ron and the others at dinner Monday night."

"And I can just imagine what he said." Katie's eyes bulged out of her head, and her mouth opened in mock shock. She threw her hands into the air. "You did WHAT? Extra potions? Are you MENTAL?"

Ginny giggled. "Dead on, Katie. Dead on."

Katie shook her head and sighed. "C'mon then, no use wasting time out here. Snape hates it when we're late." Ginny frowned and looked nervously toward the door of the potions room.

Katie smiled kindly. "Don't worry, he wouldn't ask you to come if he didn't think you could do it. Just stick with me, Gin, and you'll be fine."

Ginny smiled gratefully at the older girl and followed her down the hall.

They were the last ones to arrive. Already stationed around the classroom were six other students. She recognized most of them, although she hadn't formally met them all. From Ravenclaw, there was Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst, two girls in the 6th year. They were talking genially to two tall boys who Ginny had remembered seeing at the Ravenclaw table. The other two students were boys, Slytherin 6th years. One was dark skinned and broad shouldered, the other tall, sharp faced, and pale as moonlight on sand: Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. There were, she noticed with interest, absolutely no Hufflepuffs.

As she entered the room, she saw Blaise smirk and nudge Draco. Draco looked up at Ginny. He seemed surprised for a moment – just a moment – and then his eyes narrowed. He grinned and turned to Blaise to whisper something under his breath. Blaise chuckled darkly.

Ginny tried to ignore him. She threw her potions kit on the same table as Katie's. She felt herself tingling with annoyance—as Snape's favorite and undisputed prince of Slytherin house, she should have known Malfoy would be in this class. If she'd realized, she would have considered turning down Snape's offer to join. It was, however, bound to be a useful learning experience; she just had to do her best to control her temper and disregard whatever that terrible boy was bound to do to provoke her.

She was just about to ask Katie about the absence of Hufflepuff students when Snape swept into the room. The other students immediately stopped talking and turned to face the professor respectfully.

Professor Snape didn't waste any time. "Today we will be brewing more Pepper-Up potion. It seems Madam Pomfrey's supplies ran through more quickly this season than usual."

This news came as no surprise to Ginny. It was only early October, but the weather had been unseasonably cold and damp, and many students had already succumbed to Autumn colds and flus. It seemed half the castle had been walking around with stuffy noses, tissues falling out of their pockets, and the tell-tale steam of Pepper-Up pouring forth from their ears.

One of the tall Ravenclaw boys opened his mouth to say something. Snape cut him off. "Yes, Carmichael, I'm aware that only those who have taken the course last year will know how to brew the potion properly." The boy named Carmichael closed his mouth.

"You will be working in pairs. One older student will be placed with one younger student. The younger student should observe the older and help prepare ingredients for brewing." Ginny automatically turned toward Katie.

"For those of you unfamiliar with how this class works," said Snape, looking at Ginny. She flushed scarlet. "I assign the partners. Belby and Brocklehurst, Carmichael and Zabini, Bell and Patil, Malfoy and Weasley. Now get to work."

The students started moving to other tables. Ginny picked up her potions kit and headed over to Draco; she knew, without having to be told, that he would not come to her. She was fuming. How could Snape do this to her on her first day?

_It must be some kind of test,_ she thought. _Maybe he wants to see if he can intimidate me._ She scowled. _Well, I'll show him. It takes more than a Malfoy to scare off Ginevra Weasley._ She banged her potions kit on Draco's table.

"Pleasure to see you too, Weasley," he said, smirking at her. "No doubt Professor Snape wanted to make sure you watched someone who really knew what they were doing." He shot a contemptuous glance at Katie. "Though I must say, I'm surprised he even let you in this class." He arched his pale eyebrows. "Let's hope ineptitude doesn't run in the family. I had class with Ron long enough to know he should have handed in his cauldron _ages_ ago."

Ginny's scowl deepened, but she didn't reply. _He's just trying to provoke you_, she thought. _Ignore him, ignore him, just focus on the potion_. She tried not to admit to herself that he did, in fact, make a valid point about Ron's abilities.

"What ingredients will we be using?" she said in a businesslike tone.

"Chopped ginger root, peppercorn, slivered aconite, asphodel—"

"Asphodel?" interrupted Ginny. "In Pepper-Up potion?" She frowned. "Isn't asphodel one of the active ingredients in Draught of the Living Dead? Surely that's not called for here?"

"Right you are, Weasley," replied Draco, still smirking. "And a good thing, too, because otherwise I would have told Professor Snape to throw you out right now."

_Pompous ass,_ she muttered under her breath. He continued to list ingredients, and as he named them she pulled them out and lined them up on the surface of the table.

"Squeeze the mucus from that flobberworm, Weasley," he said imperiously, tossing one at her. She caught it a second before it smacked her in the face. He seemed to enjoy bossing her around. He took out a knife and reached for the ginger root.

Ginny wrinkled her nose as she held the flobberworm over a wide-mouthed beaker and squeezed gently. Thick, grey mucus began to drip out the bottom of the worm. She glanced over at Malfoy. He was chopping the ginger. She watched his pale, slender fingers as they quickly but very meticulously chopped the roots into small equal chunks. She felt a bit of begrudging admiration at his obvious skill.

Distracted, Ginny squeezed the flobberworm too hard. It writhed wildly in her hand and shot a glob of mucus out its backside and right into Draco's left eye.

"WEASLEY!" he roared, dropping the knife. His hand flew into his robe and pulled out a handkerchief. He used it to scrape the gooey mucus off his face.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Snape, walking over to the two students. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with your partner?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, Professor!" said Malfoy irritably. "Look what Weasley did to my eye!" He pointed at his face. "She can't even milk a flobberworm correctly. She obviously shouldn't be here. I think it'd be in everyone's best interest if she packed her kit and left!"

Ginny, who had opened her mouth to apologize, looked incensed. She was about to say something which would have undoubtedly lost Gryffindor at least 20 points, but she was cut off by Snape.

"Mr. Malfoy," said the Professor silkily, apparently disregarding Draco's tone. "Am I right in saying that I am the instructor of this course?" Ginny started in surprise. She had been expecting Snape to turn on her and possibly kick her out of the class. Her anger melted into intrigue.

Malfoy stopped pointing at his eye and lowered the hand holding the handkerchief. Momentarily confused by Snape's question, he simply replied "Uh, yes, Professor."

"Are you suggesting that you, perhaps, have a better understanding of the requirements for this course than I do? That your knowledge of potions-making is such that you are better qualified to elect who shall and shall not partake in this lesson?"

Malfoy looked taken aback. "I, no, of course not, Professor."

"Then you agree that surely I would not allow Miss Weasley to come tonight unless I felt that she could adequately accomplish whatever tasks I asked the students to perform?"

"Yes, of course, Professor."

"And," added Snape, looking at Draco severely. "Wasn't it you who, during the course of your first lesson last year, spilled Doxie eggs into Adrian Privette's cauldron and nearly poisoned him?"

Ginny couldn't believe her eyes. Malfoy, usually so composed and collected, seemed for once in his life unable to compose a decent retort. She felt a grin spread across her face.

"Please continue with the task at hand, Mr. Malfoy, and remember that I do not allow disrespect from anyone, including members of my own house." He turned to Ginny. "Miss Weasley, five points from Gryffindor for your clumsiness. In the future, it is advisable to be more careful with your ingredients. It doesn't take much to turn a potion into a poison."

"Yes, Professor," Ginny quickly replied. She felt her insides dancing. Never mind the five points from Gryffindor; it had been worth it just to see precious Malfoy be lectured by, of all people, his own Head of House. She looked up and caught Katie's eye as Snape walked away. Katie had clearly been trying not to laugh. She shot Ginny a quick wink and went back to work.

Ginny turned to face Malfoy. He had clamped his mouth shut, his lips firmly pressed together into a rigid line. His face was white with rage, except for two dots of color accenting his artistically sculpted cheekbones. His left eye was a bit red and watery where the flobberworm mucus had hit it. Ginny's grin faded, and her stomach felt leaden. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to piss off one's lab partner during the first class; she felt this was especially true when one's partner was Draco Malfoy.

"You, go there." He said, angrily pointing at a stool opposite the table. Ginny obeyed. Malfoy turned back to the ginger roots. After he finished chopping, he attended to the other ingredients. Ginny could do nothing except watch how he brewed the potion. He had apparently already started to master the use of basic nonverbal spells; he flicked his wand at his cauldron and, without saying a word, flames sprouted to life underneath it. Ginny's heart sank, and she hoped there was no complicated spell work involved in the brewing process. It would be near impossible to learn the correct way to make the potion if she couldn't hear what incantations Malfoy was using.

She watched him carefully. He picked up her flobberworm and, with a single squeeze, expertly harvested a quarter of a beaker of mucus.

He looked over at her, his face expressionless except for his eyes, which were blazing molten silver with the remnants of rage. He held up the beaker of mucus. "Why?"

Ginny looked at the beaker, then back to him. "Why?" she repeated, confused.

He made a noise of exasperation. "Why, you incompetent little weasel, does this potion need flobberworm mucus?"

Ginny felt her face flush hot in anger. "Flobberworm mucus is generally added to potions to thicken the solution," she said. "Unfortunately, _since I don't yet know how to brew this potion_, I can only assume it's used to allow the potion to become thick enough to coat the back of one's throat, to protect the tissue from any burns it might receive from Pepper-Up's characteristic steam."

Malfoy sneered, but went back to working on the potion. He dumped the mucus into the cauldron. Ginny assumed by his lack of an insulting response that she had been correct.

He leaned close to the table as he used his knife to slice the aconite into miniscule strips. His hair fell softly over his eyes and shone brightly in the dungeon's candlelight. _It's a damn shame_, thought Ginny. _He would be so attractive if he wasn't such an asshole_. He must have been concentrating; she noticed that he was very lightly biting the left side of his bottom lip. It must have been an unconscious habit. It made him look vulnerable.

"Weasley, attractive as you undoubtedly find me, it's not polite to stare." Malfoy's voice was cold and disdainful.

Ginny, startled, nearly fell off her stool. She recovered herself quickly.

"I wasn't staring at you because I think you're attractive," she retorted. "I was just wondering who you tricked to get into Hogwarts. I didn't think they allowed ferrets to attend classes."

His hands stopped. He raised his head slowly to face her. His face was a mask of indifference, yet his eyes were now dangerously dark, nearly black. "Weasel," he said slowly. "You're a grotty, foolish little bint, and if you don't stop talking right now, I swear on the grave of Salazar Slytherin that I will hex you into oblivion as soon as we step out into the corridor."

Ginny blanched and felt her insides recoil. He looked dead serious, and given his family, she had no doubt he would think of something particularly nasty to do to her.

He turned his attention back to the aconite. When he had finished slivering it, he sprinkled it over the surface of the cauldron. He added the chopped ginger root and stirred clockwise three times.

"Come over here and take the peppercorn," he said, using his head to gesture toward a small pile of peppercorn. "I will continue to stir the potion. On my word, you will drop the peppercorns into the cauldron one at a time, at an interval of one second between each. There should be exactly twenty peppercorns in that pile."

She slid off her stool and hurried over to Malfoy's side of the table. She stood next to him and scooped up the peppercorn in her right hand. With her left hand, she selected one, and held it over the cauldron.

"Drop," he said. She dropped the first peppercorn in the potion. It bobbed on the surface for a second and then sank. The potion changed color from pale blue gray to a very light, smoky orange. "Drop," Malfoy said again, and more color crept into the potion. After twenty peppercorns, the potion was a vibrant burnt orange and had the sharp tang of Pepper-Up.

"One more ingredient," said Malfoy, still stirring. "Raw sugar. One spoonful."

Ginny was surprised. She had never used sugar in a potion before. She carefully measured out a spoonful and sprinkled it over the surface of the cauldron.

"What's it for?" she asked involuntarily.

Malfoy was silent for a moment, and Ginny remembered he said he'd hex her if she spoke another word and began to grow nervous. Finally, after an agonizing minute, Malfoy replied.

"You've never made a medical potion before, have you, Weasley?" His tone barely edged on civil. Professor Snape was working next to them with Blaise and Carmichael, and no doubt Malfoy didn't want another reprimand. "Think about it. It's the same reason they make medi-chocolate. Who would take it if the potion tasted as foul as it is in the brewing stages?"

"So the spoonful of sugar—"

"—helps the medicine go down, yes."

They worked in silence for the rest of the class. Finally, the potion was done, and they scooped it into several bottles to be sent to the infirmary. Draco labeled each one in neat, tiny capitals.

"Next week we will be learning about defensive potions," announced Professor Snape. "You are dismissed."

Ginny grabbed her potions kits and, without a single parting glace, ran out the door.

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"I'd like to speak with you, Draco."

Draco placed the last vial of ingredients into his potions kit and looked up at Professor Snape. The other students had already left, including Ginny Weasley, who had flung herself out the door as if she was being chased by an acromantula. "Yes, Professor?"

"Draco, I've never had a problem with you in this class before."

Draco blushed despite himself. While it was true that he felt most of the Hogwarts professors were contemptible fools, Professor Snape was someone for whom he held much respect. The man was incredibly talented in his field, knowledgeable of and accomplished at many other kinds of magic outside of potions, and respected by both Dumbledore and, from what he had heard by eavesdropping in the family manor, the Dark Lord.

"You are a very talented student, and I must admit you often give me hope for the next generation of wizards, especially when compared to the blundering dolts I usually am forced to teach." Snape, if possible, managed a ghost of a smile. It vanished as quickly as it had come. "However, your performance in class today was most unsatisfactory."

Draco opened his mouth to protest and then immediately closed it again. He waited for Professor Snape to continue.

"We both know your potion was exemplary. Your attitude, however, was not." Snape frowned. "I realize there exists some… _animosity_… between your family and Miss Weasley's, but I request that you disregard these feelings during my class. You of all people should know that difficult times lay in our future." Here, Snape gave Draco a calculating glance. Draco tried not to squirm under the intense gaze. "We should set aside our differences in order to cultivate every skill at our disposal, should we not?"

"Yes, Professor," replied Draco quietly.

"And can you agree to act with, if not affinity, then at least in some manner resembling civility, to all the students in this lecture, Miss Weasley included?"

"I, well," Draco hesitated, remembering Weasley's earlier crack about him being a ferret. He felt a resurgence of annoyance. His face was stubborn as he spoke. "I agree to do the best I can, sir."

"Very well," said Professor Snape.

"With all do respect, sir," said Draco suddenly, hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries. "Given that you know how we feel about each other, why did you put us together in the first place?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," sand Snape blandly. "You are easily the best student in potions at Hogwarts. Miss Weasley, though highly talented, lacks experience or patience. Your precision and fortitude make you the best choice to act as her partner."

Draco was surprised and highly gratified by the compliment, but he tried not to show it too much. He nodded, not saying anything.

"Very well, you may go," said Snape. "And Draco –" Here, Snape paused, as if he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. "—please don't disappoint me," he finished simply.

"I won't, sir." Draco said fiercely. He picked up his potions kit and left.

Professor Snape sighed and sat down heavily. He flicked his wand at the door to the dungeon, closing it with a solid-sounding thud.

Dumbledore had asked Severus to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy. He was worried about the boy; and, truth be told, Severus was as well. Since Voldemort's rebirth, Severus had once again been acting on Dumbledore's orders as a spy against the Dark Lord. While he knew Draco was not currently involved with the Death Eaters, he was aware that Voldemort had heard much of the boy from Lucius.

Severus knew from personal experience that the Dark Lord liked to recruit wizards as soon as they came of age. Powerful, reckless, and often eager to prove themselves, with the proper instruction they made the most dedicated Death Eaters. It was clear to Severus that the Dark Lord intended to welcome several new followers into the fold over the Christmas holidays. Among those marked was Draco Malfoy.

Severus waved his wand and conjured up a glass and a bottle of goblin wine. He poured himself a glass and took a contemplative sip. The wine was black as ink and tasted of licorice and rue.

It was hard to tell where Draco's loyalties lay. Severus knew Draco had always struggled to please his father, whether by besting Hermione Granger in academics or beating Harry Potter at quidditch. By the way he spoke about Draco to the Dark Lord, Severus knew Lucius was expecting Draco to quickly rise amongst the ranks of Death Eaters and become Voldemort's right hand man.

But would the boy do it? There was, after all, a very big difference between knocking a rival off their broomstick during a quidditch match and actively hunting down and murdering people. Severus was convinced that Draco, although raised arrogant and bigoted, wasn't yet at the point where he would voluntarily kill in the name of the Dark Lord. However, the right word from Lucius (and, perhaps, the wrong word from someone else) could tip him in that direction.

It would take some finesse. If Draco was inclined to join the Death Eaters, Snape couldn't expose himself as one of Dumbledore's agents. No; it would take someone else, the gentle influence pf someone who could show the boy what possibilities truly lay before him, and what he would sacrifice if he chose servitude to Voldemort. Someone with passion and energy, but also kindness and mercy.

Someone quite like the young redheaded girl who was in the dungeons tonight. Snape sighed and thought of another redheaded girl who had saved a different young man, many years ago.

He swirled the glass in his hand and drained it. He poured himself another. All he could do for the time being, he supposed, was wait.

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far.

lilabennet, the remarks about grades in the first chapter has been fixed.

"A spoonful of sugar," is, of course, from Mary Poppins.


	3. Calvorio

Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter, and all characters/things related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

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"_Stupid, lousy, ugly, blood-traitor bitch!_" Draco flung his potions kit down on his bed.

"All right, Malfoy?" Goyle was sitting on his bed, idly flipping through the latest issue of _Playwizard_. "Damn! You would not _believe_ what Gwenog Jones has been hiding under her robes!" He unfolded an inner page and turned the magazine sideways.

Blaise, who had followed Draco in from the common room, smirked, his eyes narrow. He leaned against one of the four posters of his bed, hands in his pockets. "What, you didn't enjoy playing potions tutor to Weasley?"

Draco scowled. "I don't know what Snape's playing at. I can't believe how he spoke to me. And after what that stupid girl did. Look at my eye!" He pointed to his left eye, which, although still slightly red, seemed to lack any major damage. "She could have blinded me, the brainless wench!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Still, though, at least you weren't with Carmichael. That know-it-all prat wouldn't let me do a damn thing! He thinks he's so smart. He's only half blood you know, his mum's a muggle, and I heard he has a squib uncle on his father's side." He took his hands out of his pockets and sat down on his bed, loosening the striped silver-and-green tie at his throat. "Dreadfully embarrassing, don't you agree? His father's family shipped him off to muggle boarding school, tried to hush the whole thing up."

"Mmm," murmured Draco noncommittally, obviously not interested.

"You have to tutor Ron Weasley in potions?" Goyle asked. As usual, he was about two steps behind.

"Honestly, Goyle, you're like a child who wanders into the middle of a conversation and wants to know what happened." Draco shook his head in exasperation. "Not Ron Weasley, the other one. Ginny."

"Ah, Ginny," said Goyle, licking his lips. "She looks like a girl who knows how to handle a wand, you know what I mean?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively and made a jerking motion with his hand.

Draco looked appalled. "Please, Goyle, surely even _you_ must have _some_ standards. If I wanted to roll around in the mud I'd go to Gryffindor quidditch practices."

"I don't know," said Blaise. "I think Goyle has a point. She may be a shrew, but she's got a knock-out body. I don't think I'd mind too much if I had to give her cauldron a stir, eh?"

Draco had an immediate flashback to the potions class he interrupted on Monday. Ginny Weasley, robes stretched tight across her chest, dark red hair framing her face and brown eyes blazing. He imagined how that hair would look spread across his pillow, red on silver…

He shook his head. "Mud," he said pointedly.

"True," replied Blaise. He smiled wolfishly, showing his gleaming white teeth. "But what's the harm in getting a little dirty every now and then?"

"Standards," repeated Draco. "_Standards_. Am I the only one who recognizes the importance of familial status? Honor? Pride?"

"We wouldn't be bringing her home for dinner with our parents!" exclaimed Blaise, throwing his hands up in an elegant gesture of exasperation. "Just, you know, a moonlit stroll to the astronomy tower, a quick how-do-you-do against the wall…" He trailed off. "Anyway, you should think about it. You're in an ideal position. Potions partners, which gives you an excuse to talk to her, and since you're the senior student she has to do what you say. And you know redheads, notoriously passionate." He winked at Draco. "Play your cards right, Malfoy, and you'll be shagging her by Christmas."

"As if it would take that long. But that's not the point. If I were desperate for a shag I could have Pansy Parkinson by this evening."

Blaise wrinkled his elegant nose in disgust. "We could all have Pansy Parkinson by this evening. Even Crabbe."

"True."

"There's something to be said for a challenge," laughed Blaise. "And, good little girl she is, you know it'd be uncharted territory. One for the trophy case, that."

"Hmm," said Draco, apparently beginning to warm up to the idea. "And just imagine the look on Ron Weasley's face if he hears that I've deflowered his innocent baby sister." He smiled dangerously.

"Who're you giving flowers to?" asked Goyle, confused.

Draco closed his eyes and massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. "Goyle," he said slowly. "You amaze me."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

The torches cast menacing, flickering shadows against the walls. It was damp; everything was covered in a thin layer of moisture. Dark green mold crawled between crevices in the stones. Ginny exhaled shakily. Her breath misted before her; it was freezing. She flexed her fingers, trying to stir her blood to warm her hands.

"Miss me?" asked a voice casually. It came from behind her. Her body stiffened as she felt him step against her, and she continued to stare straight ahead, stubbornly refusing to turn and look at him. One hand came forward and stroked her cheek, pulling her hair away from her face and neck.

"No," she replied quietly.

He chuckled softly, darkly. "_Liar_," he hissed in her ear, tickling it with his breath.

Part of her wanted to run, but she couldn't. Part of her always wanted to run, but something stuck her feet to the spot, stopped her legs from taking her out of the chamber. Her nostrils filled with the heady, intoxicating scent of him. He was ink and smoke and a wild, tangy smell that reminded her of something she thought she knew but couldn't name.

"I don't need you," she said, trying to make her voice sound firm and unyielding. He laughed again, and he snaked his hands around her waist, holding her tightly.

"Then why," he whispered slowly, "do you keep coming back?"

She didn't respond, but merely closed her eyes as she felt his lips trail down her neck and onto her collarbone. She turned, slowly, with her eyes still closed.

"That's right," he murmured against her cheek. "You can't deny me. We're bound, Ginevra." He kissed each tear as it spilled from her eyes. His lips were cold.

When she woke up, she was still crying.

"Slowly. I said slowly, Weasley! Are you trying to ruin it?"

It was Thursday again, already. _It's amazing_, Ginny thought, _how time flies when you're desperately dreading something_. She was holding her wand with both hands as she stirred the cauldron, slowing down her pace as per Malfoy's demand. When she entered the dungeons that evening, she hoped (rather naively) to be paired with someone—anyone—other than Malfoy. Of course, she was with him once again, struggling to keep her composure as he shouted commands at her.

They were, as Snape had announced at the end of the previous week's class, making a defensive potion. It was a simple protective solution. Handy to have if one found themselves in danger without their wand. It worked much like the shield charm, _Protego_, and, while worthless against things like unforgivables, it would bounce minor jinxes and hexes back upon one's attacker for a short amount of time.

Malfoy was just as domineering as last time, but Ginny was surprised to find him a little less insulting. She supposed he did not want Professor Snape to embarrass him in front of the class again. Last week's threat of after class hexes still in her mind, Ginny did her best to follow his instructions and not inflame his ire.

"Now, quickly stir counterclockwise three times, and immediately pull your wand out." She did as he said, and as she pulled out her wand the potion let out a loud BANG. Thick green smoke poured from the mouth of the cauldron.

"Oh no! What did I do?" cried Ginny from the floor. Not expecting such a strong reaction, she had been knocked over by the potion's explosion. To her immense surprise, Malfoy extended his hand. She stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Scowling, he pulled it back.

"That was supposed to happen," he said as she got back up.

She knit her brows in irritation. "Thank you so much for the warning."

He shrugged. "It amuses me to see you injure yourself, Weasley."

"Well, I'm glad you, at least, are getting something out of this partnership," she snapped waspishly. She brushed some dirt off her robes and then turned her attention back to the cauldron. The potion had become opaque and shiny like steel. Ginny could see her reflection in the surface. Malfoy leaned over and looked in next to her. Ginny wrapped her knuckles against the side of the cauldron, just enough to create a few ripples and distort Malfoy's face.

"Much better," she said.

Professor Snape came over to their workspace. Malfoy wordlessly filled a beaker and handed it to him. Snape held the beaker up to the light, then swirled it around and watched how the liquid clung to the sides of the glass.

"Fairly well done," he said. "Although it should be a bit thicker. You stirred it too quickly; you should learn some patience, Miss Weasley."

Malfoy glanced at her and arched one eyebrow. _Told you so_, he seemed to say.

Snape handed the beaker to Ginny. "Are you ready to test it?"

"T-test it?" she said uncertainly. "As in, drink it and have hexes fired at me?"

Snape simply stared at her. "Miss Weasley, you could not possibly be under the impression that we would not be testing the effectiveness of the potions you make. What would be the point?"

She blushed. She felt like she was always blushing in his class.

"Please go to the back of the classroom. Miss Weasley will drink and you, Mr. Malfoy, will try to hex her." He looked at Malfoy. "Any of the _minor_ jinxes should reflect back." Malfoy looked mildly disappointed. Surely he hadn't been planning on using any strong curses?

_He'd do it_, Ginny thought. _He'd pull a Pettigrew and say it was just the potion backfiring if he had the chance. I don't doubt it for a minute._

Snape handed the beaker to Ginny, and she swallowed a mouthful. It was surprisingly warm going down, and she could feel the heat spreading through her body. Taking this as a good sign, she strolled confidently to the back of the classroom. Malfoy followed.

She turned to face him. "Do your worst, Malfoy."

The boy grinned unpleasantly. "As you wish, Weasley." He raised his wand. "_Entomorphis!_" A flash of red light flew out of his wand and struck Ginny. It bounced back at him, and he managed to duck just in time. The curse was absorbed by a pair of heavy black velvet curtains hanging in the back of the room.

Any apprehension Ginny may have had immediately melted. "That the best you can do, ferret?"

At this, the students who were still brewing their potions looked up in interest.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes angrily. "_Mutatio skullus!_" He had good aim, that was certain; despite Ginny dancing around to mock him, the hex hit her right in the middle of her forehead. Her head was knocked back slightly by the force of it. It rebounded, Malfoy dodged, and once again the hex was absorbed by the curtains.

"_Anteoculatia!" _The hex struck her ear and bounced back at an odd angle. Malfoy had to twist awkwardly to avoid it. Ginny grinned; it was the first time she had ever seen him move ungracefully.

"Not so good when you don't have a couple of trolls hanging around to do your dirty work, eh?" she quipped. "Can't even curse a little girl. My, what would daddy say?"

Malfoy's eyes shrunk to slits. He fired another curse at Ginny, which nearly knocked her over. He laughed harshly.

"Quick quiz, Weasley!" said Malfoy. "What's the major downfall of this potion?"

"Longevity," she replied immediately, determined not to let him make her look ignorant. Another hex bounced off her. "The potion lasts only a limited amount of time."

"And how do you estimate the amount of time you have?" he asked.

"Time is related to the potion's density. So, the thinner the potion, the less…" Her eyes widened as she felt the potion's warmth leave her body. Malfoy reacted immediately.

"_Calvorio!_" Ginny tried to dodge it, but she wasn't fast enough. The curse hit her head. She felt her scalp grow hot, and she threw her hands up, fearing the worst. She heard gasps from the Ravenclaws, and Katie's voice angrily shouting "Malfoy, you worm!" She closed her hands and then slowly lowered them in front of her face.

And there, curling around her pale fingers like fiery little snakes, were locks of her hair.

Ginny's eyes began to sting. She felt tears building behind them, but refused to let them spill. She'd be damned if she let him see her cry.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," she said quietly, her breath ice cold and dripping with malice, and then spun around and immediately left the dungeons, her hair still clasped in her hands. A few stray locks clung to her head like petals clinging resolutely to the memory of a bloom; the rest fell, scattered, leaving a soft, scarlet trail behind her.

Malfoy just stared after her.

She didn't cry. Draco, very begrudgingly, found he admired that.

The wind whipped his cloak around. He woke early the day after the eventful potions class and slipped out of the dormitory before the others were up. The dawn was barely reaching its lazy golden fingers above the horizon when Draco made his way down to the lake. His black boots crunched on the frost that glittered on the ground.

He'd wanted to make her angry. He'd wanted to hurt her, Blaise's grand ideas about seduction be damned; he'd wanted to hurt her, to shut her up and stop her from ever saying the word _ferret_ again, to watch that pretty little face crumble and fall to pieces. He wanted to make her the laughingstock of the class, to have her recognize her rightful place as inferior.

He felt a fleeting moment of triumph when her eyes went wide with shock, and she pulled her hair – her maddening, beautiful hair, which had filled his thoughts for a week and a half – off of her scalp and held it in front of her.

And she'd just stood there for a moment, very still. Her brown eyes grew moist, but she did not allow the tears to fall, and then she said it –

"_Fuck you, Malfoy."_

Frigid. Simple. Direct. Draco was a boy who by no means had been sheltered from verbal abuse; if he had a knut for every time his father shouted obscenities at the manor's house elves, he would've had enough to build a life-sized coin replica of Hogwarts. And he himself had been on the receiving end of a variety of insults (mostly from the damn golden trio, Potter and pals).

But there was something about the way she said it, something about her _tone_. Draco had a momentary flashback of a fight he heard his parents having when he was nine – _It's not what you said_, his mother explained to his father, _it's the way you said it_. He usually brushed such notions off as emotional woman-talk, but now he thought he understood what the saying meant.

No one had ever talked to Draco Malfoy that way. Richest young wizard in Britain, best looking boy at Hogwarts, second in his class (_first if not for that damn mudblood Granger_), not to mention quick with a wand. Sure, Potter might try and knock him down a peg from time to time, but his usually feeble attempts did little more than amuse Draco.

But one f-bomb from little Ginny Weasley had him tied up in knots.

He kicked a stone into the lake. The squid lazily waved a long, thick tentacle at him.

He scowled, angry at himself. He didn't care. He'd got what he'd wanted, after all, and he doubted she'd ever talk to him again. It would make potions more difficult, sure, but at least she wouldn't keep being such a pain in the ass.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a silk handkerchief. It was snow white, with his initials carefully embroidered in green in one corner. Wrapped carefully inside it was a single lock of long red hair.

Snape had given him an earful and made him stay after class to clean up— without magic. Her hair lay on the floor like bedraggled party streamers, and as he swept it up he couldn't help but feel some pangs of something like remorse. Solid-as-stone as he liked to think himself, he did have a weakness for beautiful things. He'd inherited the quality from his mother; she had a taste for understated elegance that was reflected in the family manor's furnishings. She taught him from a young age to recognize and appreciate beautiful things, whether it be the execution of an exquisite painting or the gradual fading of color as the day descended into twilight.

Much as it pained him to admit it, there was no doubt that Weasley's hair was, in fact, beautiful. The rest of her, too, though it was a beauty he felt more comfortable describing in vulgar locker room chats with the rest of the Quidditch team than silently ruminating over in the early hours of morning, a lone figure in black standing against the rising sun.

He didn't feel this way, fourth year, when he'd cursed Hermione Granger and watched in delight as her front teeth grew monstrously large. She'd had it coming, too, like Weasley had had it coming, and he heartily enjoyed watching the girl try and cover her face with her hands while Snape declared that he saw no difference in her appearance.

So why now, why this sudden burst of emotion, this strange twisting feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like guilt or regret? He twirled the lock of hair in his hands, admiring how it seemed to absorb the light from the sun and reflect it back brighter. He glanced around quickly, ensuring he was truly alone, and raised the lock of hair to his nose. He sniffed it. It smelled like flowers and limes.

_Ridiculous_, he thought, disgusted with himself. _You're losing it, Malfoy, sneaking around like a stalker, stealing girls' hair and sniffing it like a common pervert_. _Why would you care about what happens to a worthless blood-traitor like her? You're a disgrace to the name of Malfoy._

He thought of her knocked to the floor after the potion explosion. Blaise had winked at him from the next table, nodded his head toward Weasley, and raised his eyebrows suggestively, no doubt to encourage Draco to try some faux gallantry in the hopes of furthering the boy's chances at exploring the red-head's uncharted territory. And he had stuck out his hand, and she looked at him as if she wouldn't deem his worthy enough to spit on, much less help her off the floor.

_Well fuck her too, then._ He held his hand out and the lock of hair caught in the wind. His two fingers pinched the end together and kept it from flying away. He found he didn't want to let it go.

He lowered his hand and wrapped the hair back up in the handkerchief. _Foolish teenage sentimentalism_, he thought. He tucked it deep into a hidden pocket in his robes. He thought of Weasley, hair in her hands, walking defiantly away from him. He wondered if Madam Pomfrey would fix it.

He wrapped his cloak close around his body and strode across the lawn, scowling all the way back up to the castle. Breakfast would be starting soon, and his absence from the Slytherin table would surely be noticed.

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"You're like a child who wanders into the middle of a conversation and wants to know what happened." – modified version of a quote from The Big Lebowski

Special thanks to Leigh for helping me think some things through.

A big thank you to everyone who's reviewed and added me to their story alerts.


	4. Revelation

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J. K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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Professor Dumbledore carefully measured out a teaspoon of sugar and dropped it into his teacup. The tiny gold spoon made a musical tinkle against the bone-colored porcelain. He took the spoon out and laid it gently against side of his saucer, then turned his steady blue gaze to Professor Snape.

"It was a disaster," Snape said blandly, meeting the headmaster's gaze. "He performed _calvorio,_ and Miss Weasley swore at him and immediately stormed off. Hair all over my dungeons." He paused to take a sip of his tea. Unlike Dumbledore, he drank it without sugar or cream. "Once it's there it never goes away. I'll be finding strands of it three years from now, mixed in with the pickled frog brains."

Dumbledore ruminated on this information. "And how did Draco seem, afterwards?" he asked after a moment. "Proud? Pleased?"

Snape shook his head. "No, not particularly. At first he was still full of righteous teenage indignation—she was mocking him the entire time, after all—but after everyone else had gone, he seemed a bit deflated, and perhaps not just because of my lecture."

Dumbledore nodded. "And what exactly did you say to him?"

"The usual," Snape shrugged. "I went on about dignity and the responsibility that one has to one's classmates, and how I was disappointed that he could not overlook personal differences in the order to flourish up to his full potential. It's hard," he continued, looking at Dumbledore significantly, "to try and direct the boy without revealing certain information about myself."

"Hard, but necessary." Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I know you worry for him, Severus, and I'm very grateful he has someone like you watching over him. People can be very troubled at that age, and he needs you for guidance."

Snape raised his right eyebrow. "Troubled? That's putting it mildly."

"He's young, and he's walking on the edge of a cliff, though I doubt he recognizes the true depth of the fall. Tradition, duty, and familial bonds all tell him to pursue the dark arts. For him, denying Voldemort would be like spitting in his father's face." Dumbledore sighed. "How do you think his mother feels?"

"It's hard to tell her true feelings. I haven't seen her out of the presence of Lucius in quite some time. But there are moments, when she doesn't seem to think anyone is watching, that she reveals a sort of… _confliction_." He stared ruefully into his tea. "We joined together, you know, on the same day. It was my idea, of course, and I don't think she would have done it if I hadn't talked her into it. And then, once she met Lucius, she was in too far to back out."

"We all have the power to choose our own destinies, Severus, and to change our path if we feel we are traveling the wrong one."

Snape laughed humorlessly. "I imagine that when the Dark Lord is practically living under your roof, changes of heart may not be well received." He looked back up at Dumbledore. "But I think she has regrets, and I think her greatest concern is for Draco's safety, Lucius's wishes be damned."

Dumbledore nodded. "And Lucius?"

Dark brown eyes met blue. "Would feel no greater joy than to have this mark burnt into Draco's skin forever."

Dumbledore nodded again and pondered Snape's words. "Do you think that's likely to happen?"

"There has been talk of _things_ happening during the Christmas holidays, although there has been no mention of initiating any newcomers with the mark just yet. I believe he plans on giving them all some sort of test before he marks them. He only wants to recruit those he can trust not to accidentally spill secrets and who won't back out once they're in. He doesn't want to risk public exposure until he returns to the height of his powers."

"Has he said whom he has chosen? Only Slytherins, I presume?"

"Yes, only Slytherins, and those from families with ties to the circle. Draco, of course; Pansy Parkinson; Blaise Zabini; Edward MacNair; Adam Avery. All some of the best students in their year."

Dumbledore nodded again, and then took the lid off a small round dish on his desk. He offered it to Severus, who shook his head, and then selected a single yellow candy for himself. He popped the candy in his mouth and sucked on in, meditatively.

"You were always close with Narcissa in school, weren't you, Severus?"

"You know she was really the only other person I cared for. Besides, well…" he trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. She was a friend, one for whom you cared deeply, and that sort of love creates bonds between people, even if they don't believe it."

"That's a beautiful theory, but I fail to see how that will help matters at hand."

"Love," said Dumbledore pointedly, "as I've told you many times, Severus, is a more powerful force than any dark art ever imagined and more subtle than we could ever hope to understand. It is also our best weapon in a war against darkness."

Snape gave a contemptuous snort. "Love

Dumbledore smiled. "At the very least, it made you return, Severus, and without you our side would be at a significant disadvantage. For that I am thankful, although I recognize your subsequent burden is a dangerous and cumbersome one."

"I deserve nothing better. In fact, I deserve much worse."

Dumbledore frowned. This expression transformed his face entirely, and as Snape took in the wrinkled face with parchment-thin skin and long, white hair, he had a moment of appreciation for just how old Dumbledore was.

"We are all haunted by the ghosts of things done wrong. But the past remains where it fell; the best we can hope to do is go bravely forward with the lights of those we've lost burning brightly in our hearts and the strength to pursue a path of truth and justice."

They finished their tea in silence.

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After exiting the dungeons, Ginny went immediately to the hospital wing. She had scarcely crossed the threshold when Madam Pomfrey's voice called out "Visiting hours are o—" she stopped as she saw Ginny.

"Oh, dear. Hex gone wrong?"

Ginny, unable to hold them back anymore, erupted into tears.

"Oh, don't worry, don't worry! We'll have you all sorted out by the morning!"

"I—I'm sorry," choked out Ginny, mortified. "I know, it's just hair, I shouldn't care so much…" she trailed off as she held her hands out. Red tendrils dangled from her fingers.

Madam Pomfrey smiled sympathetically and gently took Ginny's hair from the girl's hands. "It's hard, I know, especially on girls your age. Now, just tell me how it happened, and we'll work on fixing it."

"_Calvorio_," whispered Ginny.

The nurse shook her head and tutted. "That's a nasty spell, that, and I hope whoever used it gets detention," she said. "In the meantime, you should stay here. Growing hair back is easy, but it may be a little uncomfortable. Plus," she added, looking at Ginny critically, taking in the girl's pale visage and under eye circles, "you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

She handed Ginny a pair of blue and white pajamas and took the girl behind a screen to change. Once she was settled into bed, Madam Pomfrey came over with two bottles. One was a small blue bottle labeled _Hasty Hair_. A beautiful blonde witch winked and flipped her hair from the bottle's front.

"How long was your hair, about shoulder length?" asked Madam Pomfrey. Ginny nodded. The nurse measured out a spoonful of the potion and gave it to Ginny to swallow. After she took the spoon back, she handed Ginny a clear glass filled with an opaque white liquid.

"Dreamless Sleep," explained the nurse, unnecessarily. "Everyone who stays overnight gets it."

Ginny swallowed the chalky-tasting potion and relaxed against the pillows. Despite the needle-like tingling spreading over her scalp, she fell asleep immediately.

She awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than she had in ages. She sat up and stretched luxuriously, then reached out for a small mirror that had been placed on her bedside table. Her hair was exactly the same shade as before, and just a few centimeters shorter.

_I should thank that jerk_, she thought wryly. _I needed a haircut anyway. _

_Of course, that wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as punching him in his smug ferret face. _

After a once-over from Madam Pomfrey ("_Beautiful, dear, good as new!"_), Ginny made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. As soon as she stepped through the portrait hole, she heard her brother's voice.

"Katie told us all about it!" Ron shouted. "Don't worry, Gin, I'll make that slimy git regret what he did to you! I'll throw him off the astronomy tower if I have to!"

The other students going down for breakfast paused to stare at Ron. Ginny groaned.

"She told you all about it? Great."

"Only under threat of violence!" Katie emerged from the stairs leading from the girls' dormitories. Her face was angry. "He saw me come back with your potions things and without you, and he forced it out of me." She turned to glare at Ron. "Turned his wand on me and said he'd jinx me!"

Ron turned red. "Well, she's my sister, I've a right to know what happens to her!" He shouted at Katie.

"She's practically a grown woman, and just because she gets into a little trouble in class doesn't mean you need to jelly-legs everyone in sight!"

"Well, she's—"

"—also standing right here," interrupted Ginny irritably. "Ron, if you were so worried, you could have come to the hospital wing to visit."

Ron stared pointedly at Katie. Huffing, the older girl left the common room.

"It was after hours," said Ron, turning back to his sister. "And Harry was off somewhere with—" he paused, and looked around to see if anyone would overhear him. "-_the cloak_." His amber eyes grew plaintive. "I _was_ worried," he said.

Ginny wanted to stay annoyed, but found she couldn't. Ron looked at her with his trademark childlike earnestness, and she felt her irritation slipping away like water through her fingers. Closest in age, he had always been her playmate growing up, until he left for Hogwarts. She always found it hard to be angry with him when he looked so contrite.

She sighed. "Yeah, well, that doesn't mean you have to act like a brute. Katie was very much in the right, not telling you my business."

Ron scowled. "You're my little sister. Your business _is_ my business. Especially when Malfoy's involved," He spat at the name as if it were a dirty swear word. "Are you going to quit going to that class? I think you should. He's obviously out to get you!"

"No, I am not going to quit the class!" said Ginny in a tone of great offense. "You think just because some prick like Malfoy hexes me, I'll give up? What kind of attitude is that? I'm not a child, Ron. I'm not going to quit just because it's hard or unpleasant, and I'm certainly not going to give _Draco Malfoy_ the satisfaction of driving me away from something I really want to do!"

Ron frowned. "Fine. I don't like it, but I don't see how I can stop you. But if he does anything to you again, I want you to let me know so I can take care of it."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I can handle Malfoy on my own, thanks," she said crossly.

"Like you handled him last night?" he asked fiercely.

"What's that about you handling boys in the night?" asked another voice in a tone of high amusement. Harry had entered the common room unnoticed a few minutes earlier. He was struggling to keep an innocent expression on his face, but Ginny could see laughter behind his green eyes. She was instantly grateful for his presence; Harry hated conflict of any kind, so he could usually be depended on to help diffuse fights, especially when they involved Ron.

"WHAT? That's—that's not—" Ron sputtered wildly. His face had returned to its normal color, but now his ears were once again flushing scarlet. He turned on his friend. "Don't even say that! That's not what I meant!"

"Ginny, I have a bit of astronomy work I'm having trouble with, do you think you'd accompany me to the tower tonight? I bet I could make you see stars." Harry threw a roguish wink a Ginny. She couldn't help but laugh. Ron looked frantically from his sister to Harry.

"Oh, don't even think about it, Harry Potter!" said Ron. "Not unless you want to be the Boy-Who-Got-Killed-For-Oogling-His-Best-Friend's-Sister!"

"You should listen to him, Harry," shot Ginny. "Red Faced Sputtering Prat is much more attractive, right Ron?"

Harry laughed. "I'm partial to Crazed Rambling Lunatic, myself."

"I can't believe it!" cried Ron, melodramatically throwing his hands up in the air. "Family, best friends, all turning against me!

At that point, Hermione entered the common room, distractedly looking through a pile of scrolls. Ron seized her, and she let out a small shriek of surprise and dropped everything she was holding.

"Hermione! My very best friend, the one I can always depend on!"

"Ron, get off me! You're crushing my scrolls!" She pushed him off of her. "What is wrong with you?" she said irately, bending to pick up her work. She glared suspiciously up at him from the floor. "You haven't been licking those South American toad skins again, have you? I don't care what Seamus Finnegan says, they will NOT give you a 'groovy trip, man!'"

Harry erupted into laughter as Ron stared at Hermione open-mouthed. Grinning, Ginny slipped away to her dormitory to get ready for class.

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Draco was trying not to stare. No, he wasn't trying. He didn't need to try. The entire notion of him staring would be ridiculous.

Her red hair was wrapped into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. As she leaned over table, the dancing candlelight in the dungeons put her profile in high relief, her cheekbones sculpted as if from marble. If he squinted, he could see in her the breathtaking woman he had seen two and a half weeks earlier. He didn't squint.

Madam Pomfrey fixed her hair. Draco had waited with bated breath at the Slytherin table Friday morning, anxiously chasing scrambled eggs around his plate and peeking over at the Gryffindor table every five seconds to see if she would come to breakfast. She finally appeared, long after the toast had gone cold, with her hair crimson as ever, swinging carelessly around her shoulders. When he saw her he sighed deeply with relief. Then, irritated, he swept himself up out of his chair so abruptly he caused Pansy Parkinson to upend a goblet of orange juice on her lap. She shrieked after him but he didn't hear her. He left the Great Hall as quickly as possible.

"Malfoy? Earth to Malfoy?"

He jumped imperceptibly. "What, Weasley?" he snapped irritably. She had yet to speak to him during this week's class. For the last week, whenever they happened to pass each other in the hall, she walked right past him as if nothing had happened. Which, granted, was no different than how she acted before he had cursed her. It seemed she simply decided he didn't exist. Her brother hadn't come to a similar conclusion; Ron Weasley had taken to cracking his knuckles menacingly and glaring at Draco in the corridors, which Draco found highly amusing.

Weasley sighed, exasperated. "I've been asking you whether you think we should sprinkle the powered foxglove petals over the potion and then stir, or if we can just dump the whole scoop in at once?"

They were making a Darkness Detection Compound. When drunk, the potion would reveal the presence of any hexes, jinxes, curses, or other traces of dark magic currently active on an individual. After swallowing the potion, a white light would erupt from the area of the body which was affected. Draco thought he had seen Weasley pale the slightest bit when Snape told them the effects of the potion, but when he looked back she seemed fine. He must have imagined it.

He arched his eyebrows. "You want to just 'dump the whole scoop in at once?'" His voice was acidic. "Weasley, potion making is a delicate science. An art. You can't just go—"

"—tossing about whatever you wish, yeah, yeah," Weasley finished his sentence. "God, if I've heard that mantra once, I've heard it a thousand times."

"And a fat lot of good it's done you," spat Draco. He noisily banged his jar of salamander eyes down on the table. "You want to know what your problem is, Weasley?"

"Other than being stuck with a snotty pointy-faced jerk for a potions partner?" she spat back, stirring the cauldron wildly. A little of the potion sloshed over the side.

Draco sneered at her. "You have no patience, no sense of subtlety, and are about as delicate as a mountain troll."

"Forgive me, Malfoy," said Weasley immediately. "Not all of us possess your natural… _delicacy_." She said the word slowly. Blaise Zabini, working one cauldron over, laughed, and then tried to cover it up with a cough as Draco glared at him.

"Sprinkle," he said, turning back to his partner. He struggled to keep his voice civil. He could see Professor Snape watching him from across the dungeons. "Unless it says otherwise, always sprinkle."

She continued stirring with her right hand and used her left to sprinkle the powered foxglove petals over the surface of the cauldron. Once it was fully mixed, the potion was an iridescent peacock green.

"We're nearly out of time for the day," said Professor Snape clearly. "If you believe your potion to be finished, one partner should try it. If that person is currently suffering from a curse, the part affected will shine with a bright white light."

"Sir?" asked Eddie Carmichael, his hand shooting into the air. "If we don't have a curse on us, how do we know the potion is brewed correctly? Nothing will light up."

"When brewed incorrectly," Snape replied calmly. "The drinker will immediately begin to vomit uncontrollably. I suggest you have a spare cauldron ready," here, he eyed Carmichael and Blaise's teal potion critically, "just in case."

"Well, bottoms up, Malfoy," said Weasley, handing over a beaker.

"What? Why me?" he asked indignantly.

A retching noise cut through the dungeons. Both students turned to see Mandy Brocklehurst becoming violently ill into a small cauldron. Draco wrinkled his aristocratic nose in distaste.

"I played guinea pig last time," said Weasley quickly. "And you shaved my head, remember? It's your turn." She thrust the beaker at him again, eyes narrowed. "Just drink it, okay?"

She had a strange, sharp look in her eyes. Draco took the beaker and held it up to his lips. She looked at him expectantly. He scowled. "Waiting for something, Weasley?"

"Hesitating, Malfoy?" she replied quietly. "Got some dirty little secret you're afraid is going to be revealed?" She picked her words very carefully. "Any cute little tattoos you're hiding from us?"

_Stupid childish bitch._ He narrowed his eyes and recklessly knocked back the potion. It sizzled down his throat and brought tears to the corners of his eyes. He gasped and grabbed for the table. Weasley jumped back in surprise. Pain unlike any he'd ever experienced shot through his body. The potion burned its way through his veins, searing him, roasting him from the inside out. He grew hot, he was melting, he was catching fire, he had suddenly been transplanted to the surface of the sun-

It stopped as suddenly as it had started. No lights had lit up Draco's body, nothing was glowing or blinking or illuminated. He took deep breaths until he felt reasonably steady. Then, he looked defiantly into the girl's deep brown eyes.

Weasley's face was twisted into strange little knot. She put the stopper in a vial of their potion and brought it over to Professor Snape's desk for him to inspect later. Then, she began to clean up their workspace. Draco reached out for his jar of salamander eyes. His hands were shaking; it must have been an aftereffect of the potion. The jar slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the floor, the glass shattering instantly.

"_Reparo._"

Weasley bent to pick up the jar she had repaired and handed it to Draco. He took it wordlessly and placed it in his bag. As turned away, he saw a flash of iridescent green as Weasley darted her pale little hand inside her robes. Acting as if he had noticed nothing, he placed the last of his ingredients in his bag. She had already shut hers and was quickly heading out the door. Draco pointed his wand at their cauldron. "_Scourgify_," he said, ridding it of their potion leftovers.

The other students were still cleaning up. "Goodnight Professor," he called nodding to Professor Snape. Snape merely waved a hand in his direction; the other hand was on his wand, mumbling an incantation over Mandy's still-vomiting body.

He left as quietly as he could. Pausing to listen, he detected faint footsteps in a tapestry-lined corridor that branched off to the left. _Stealing potions, sneaking around, how Slytherin of you_, he thought to himself. _Highly suspicious, little weasel. What ever are you up to?_

He looked back at the door of the potions dungeons, made sure no one could see him, and then set off in pursuit of her, taking care to step as lightly as he could.

He turned a corner and caught a glimpse of red hair as Weasley rushed into an empty classroom. She had carelessly left the door open a few centimeters. "_Nox minimus_," whispered Draco. The light in the corridor dimmed. Moving as swiftly as he dared, he hid himself behind a wall-hanging directly across from the door. He carefully picked at the threads in the tapestry until he made a tiny hole just large enough for him to see out of. He had a clear view of the girl. She was sitting crossed legged on an old desk, holding a small glowing vial lightly by her fingertips.

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No one had followed her; she was sure of it. Not many people traveled down this corridor. Ginny sat in the decrepit classroom she used to brew her sleepless potions. Class hadn't been held there since at least the seventies; the whole room, minus a small area in the corner where she usually set up her cauldron, was covered in a thick layer of dust. Some desks and a few mismatched chairs, most of which were missing legs, were the only furniture. She didn't bother to give herself any light.

She put her hand inside her robes and reached into a pocket. Her fingers felt the small vial she had sneaked away from the potions class, and she pulled it out. She held it up to her face for closer inspection. It was a beautiful shade of blue-green, sparkling and casting a soft glow over the old classroom.

Draco Malfoy hadn't spilled his dinner all over the floor of the dungeons, so she assumed the potion worked. He also hadn't lit up and revealed any dark magic. She listened in on her brother and Harry's conversations enough to know that the mark wasn't just a pretty tattoo; it acted as a conduit between the Dark Lord and his followers, and as such fell under the category of a dark curse. If he had been marked, his arm should have started glowing.

_Harry and Ron will be so disappointed,_ she thought_. All those hours of their lives wasted on false conspiracy theories…_

The liquid in the vial sloshed around slightly. Ginny noticed that her hand was trembling. She laid them gently in her lap, the vial cupped inside them, the potion turning her hands blue and green. She thought about last night's dream.

_The chamber was cold as death. So was he; he held her face in his left hand and used his right to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. _

"_So beautiful," he murmured. He kissed her forehead. His lips were like ice. "Ginevra, how old are you now?"_

"_Ssixteen in March," she said quietly. _

_Tom smiled. "Almost the same age as me, dearest." His took his hands away from her face. One of his fingers drifted lazily down her neck, across her clavicles, and toward the center of her chest to the V made by her shirt. She shivered involuntarily. "When I was sixteen, I made that diary that allowed us to meet." His finger circled a small mole above Ginny's left breast. "I'm so glad I did that. Aren't you glad, Ginevra?"_

"_Yes," she breathed. Even though his hands were as cold as his lips, her skin felt hot and flushed where he touched her. She couldn't move, but didn't think she wanted to anyway._

"_Sixteen is such a magical age, don't you think? The cusp of adulthood. It's when we really start to decide what we want, to whom we will dedicate ourselves." He laid his palm flat against her chest above where her heart was. He locked his dark eyes with Ginny's. "What do you want?"_

_Any thoughts she may have had went sliding away from her like a child's sled skimming down a snowy hill. She couldn't pull her eyes away from him. "You, Tom," she whispered. _

_He laughed. The sound echoed painfully in the chamber. "Don't worry; I've made sure of that." His grin illuminated his face with boyish handsomeness. "Patience, my red little rose. We'll see each other soon enough." _

_And then he kissed her, and she knew nothing but darkness and the cold._

The Dark Lord was out there, somewhere. Harry's tale after the final task of the Triwizard Tournament a year and a half ago had confirmed a rebirth of some sort; but apart from a few rumors and some mysterious disappearances, no one had any concrete knowledge of Voldemort's activities. At least, if they did, they weren't talking about it, not according to all the complaining she'd overhead from Harry when he visited the burrow last summer.

The dreams had always been vivid. Were they worse now that he was back? Ginny couldn't tell. She still felt the same in them, like that lonely eleven year old girl who didn't have anyone to talk to, so she poured her heart into an empty diary. Small, alone, singular.

She shuddered as she remembered his words. _We'll see each other soon enough. _She didn't know what to make of it; none of the dreams she had after the Chamber had ever come true, and she hadn't blacked out since. But now, knowing he was out there, somewhere, she couldn't help but wonder…

Ginny's eyes were screwed shut. She squeezed the vial tightly in her hands and felt the hard lip of it biting into her palm. _Just do it_, she thought. _Just do it and get it over with and then you'll at least know, even though there's probably nothing to know anyway, you just want to be sure._

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. Then, hands still trembling, she took the stopper out of the vial and lifted it to her lips. She swallowed the potion in one gulp.

Fire. All she knew was fire. She opened her mouth to scream but no noise came out. She clawed at her throat, as if she could rip it open and scoop the potion out. It traveled lower, shot itself through her arteries and veins, and it felt as if a thousand tiny suns were forcing their way into each of her fingers, her toes, inside the thick vein underneath her tongue. Her vision exploded in bright white stars, and all she knew was the heat, the light, and pain. Her heart was pounding, faster, faster, and it seemed it would force itself through her chest –

-and then it stopped, and she found herself slumped on the floor, the vial smashed into pieces underneath her. She pushed herself up with her hands, crying out softly as she felt the sharp bite of glass under her palms. Her whole body shook uncontrollably.

She lifted her bloodied hands up to her robes, undoing them. Then they went to her shirt. Her fingers slipped on her buttons, but she finally managed to undo the top three. She pulled the sides of her shirt open.

And underneath her pale skin was her heart, beating steadily and burning bright white.

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews, thank you for adding _The Widening Gyre _to your story alerts, and thank you for your patience.


	5. Things Fall Apart

The Widening Gyre, Part 5: Things Fall Apart

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J. K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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He couldn't believe what he was seeing. 

Her face was twisted in a silent scream, her eyes clamped shut. He could see her veins corded in thick knots down the side of her neck. Her hands jerked and the vial fell from her hands, smashing against the stone floor with a mockingly melodic _chink_. Her hands then flew up to her throat and she scratched at it, raking deep red marks down the side of it with her nails, and then her eyes popped open round and terrified but he knew she couldn't see, and then she fell to the ground, still silent. She stayed down for a full minute, and Draco fleetingly wondered if he should come out and see if she was alive.

But before he could move, she was pushing herself up with her hands. She let out a small cry as she cut herself on glass from the broken vial. Then, regardless of the blood that was starting to stream down her palms, she began to _take off her clothes_.

Thoughts of revealing himself vanished. Hormones winning out over any sense of good manners, Draco stared as she undid one button, two, three – and then any sense of arousal left as he saw her peel her shirt back slightly and reveal a throbbing, pulsing light against her skin, emitting from where her heart would be.

_What. The. Fuck._

Draco had gone by Professor Snape's office earlier that day to discuss what sort of potion they'd be brewing in the evening. He knew it wouldn't pick up any small thing like _confudus; _ one had to be under a serious dark curse for the potion to have an effect upon the drinker. Snape admitted that he didn't think any student would be able to truly witness the potion's effects. He just thought it would be good for practice, as the brewing stages were very particular.

So why was little Ginny Weasley sitting in a pile of dust and her own blood in a deserted dungeons classroom, lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree?

And, perhaps more importantly, why didn't she seem the least bit _surprised_ at the situation? She hadn't moved; she just sat, staring down at her chest, silent. He didn't see a single tear slide down her cheek nor hear one soft gasp of shock.

And she was still there, still sitting, her eyes closed. Draco didn't know what time it was; it could have been mere minutes later, or it could have been hours. His feet were starting to ache from standing on the hard stone of the corridor, and he was getting cold. He missed most of dinner because of his chat with Snape, so he was starting to get really hungry. It had to be nearly curfew, if not past. Draco didn't particularly care about the rules, but being a Prefect he would be put through stricter sanctions, and he'd rather spare himself the lecture from his father about besmirching the family name or some such notion.

And, also, he found himself not sure what he would do if Weasley found him spying on her, especially given the current situation. Perhaps he should wait until she got up and left. Surely she wouldn't stay all night?

Just then, his stomach let out a loud, hungry grumble. Weasley's eyes snapped open, and she immediately leapt to her feet. She drew her wand.

"_Petrificus totalus_!" She aimed blindly out into the corridor. Draco, not expecting the attack, dodged a moment too late. He was hit with the full force of the jinx, and he fell from behind the curtain, smacking his face against the cold stone floor. He heard a sickening _crack-thud_ as his face hit the ground. His nose felt like it was broken.

"_Mobilicorpus_." Weasley levitated his body a half a meter of the ground and flipped it over. Her eyes widened in horror as they locked with Draco's. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco couldn't reply. He felt the blood from his nose slowly start draining down the back of his throat. He began to choke on it.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Weasley impatiently flicked her wand, and the spells lifted. He fell to the floor and immediately began coughing and spitting out blood. He stiffened as he felt the girl shove her wand into his spine.

"Speak."

Word around the castle was that Ginevra Weasley was an accomplished dueler. In fact, Draco had seen the evidence himself last year, when she laid a bat-bogey so thick on Michael Corner that he had to stay in solitary confinement in the hospital wing for four hours before anyone could come close enough to lift the curse. To be kneeling on the ground with her wand shoved in his back was not, in Draco's opinion, an ideal situation.

Feeling that, in this case, honesty might be the best policy, he began to explain himself. "I followed you," he said, in between bloody coughs. "I saw you put some of that potion in your robe, and when you left I listened for your footsteps and followed you. I was… _curious_."

"Why do you care what I do?" She jabbed her wand at him sharply.

"Ow! I don't give a damn about you! I just… I just thought it was suspicious!"

"Ha! Suspicious? That's awful rich, coming from you. Everyone knows your family has ties to the Dark Lord. What do you get up to in the middle of the night, hmm? Sending secret messages to daddy and the rest of the Death Eaters?" 

Draco became incensed. "Don't you talk about my father! You don't know anything about my family!"

"I know you wouldn't deny allegiance to the Dark Lord, if he asked you."

Draco sneered. "Think what you will. But I'm not the one with a campfire under my ribcage, am I?" he said icily. "I reckon a curse like the one you've got isn't easy to come by. So how'd you get it?"

She removed her wand from his back and walked around so she was facing him. "Give me one good reason," she said slowly, "why I shouldn't _obliviate_ you right now."

Draco laughed harshly. "Because Hogwarts is an academic institution and as such has wards put up that notify members of staff whenever a memory charm is performed. You'd have half the professors here in two seconds."

Weasley frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Don't you read?" He asked contemptuously. "It's in_ Hogwarts, a History_. A basic primer on what you can and can't get away with at this damn school."

"Fine," she snapped. "Then there's nothing I can do to make you forget what you've seen?"

He thought about her fingers, slick with blood, undoing the buttons on her shirt and about her pale skin, lightly freckled, illuminated with the potion's glow. He felt the shreds of something primal stirring within him. "Not with magic, no."

Weasley narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What? Nothing." He stared at her. "What in the world is wrong with you, Weasley?"

"Nothing."

He scoffed, nodding his head toward her chest. "Of course. Nothing to see here."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Ah, another one of those elegant and articulate responses I've grown so fond of."

Weasley sighed and tugged at a lock of hair that had long since escaped her bun. "Look, just… just drop it, alright? I'm handling it."

He arched his eyebrows. "Handling it? So you know what it is?"

"I know it's none of your damn business!"

Draco, more intrigued than he thought it wise to let on, merely rolled his eyes and said "Fine. You want to play junior dark detective, that's your prerogative. But if you think I'm just going to forget everything I've seen tonight, you're infinitely thicker than I previously thought." He paused a moment, thoughtfully. "And that's a lot, come to think of it."

She glared at him. "You mention this to anyone, and I'll tell the whole school I caught you wanking in the classrooms back here. And," she added, as Draco opened his mouth to interrupt her, "I'll tell them I've never seen anything so small."

Draco glared at her. "As if anyone would believe you."

"Some might not," she agreed, nodding. "But the thought would be out there, wouldn't it? You know, I was anxious for a chat with Lavender Brown anyway..."

He looked at her for a long, calculating moment. Her brown eyes were set and determined, but also a little scared. She looked desperate, and he didn't doubt for a minute she'd do as she'd threatened. He wasn't afraid of people hearing about his_… physical attributes_. In fact, he had more than enough to go around, thank you very much. But that didn't necessarily mean he wanted to have to flash his pride and glory around the Great Hall just to prove the rumors wrong.

"Fine," he said furiously. "Whatever. I wasn't here, you weren't here. Agreed?"

She nodded, obviously pleased with herself.

"You know, Weasley, you're kind of a conniving bitch."

She laughed. "Coming from you, Malfoy, that's a compliment. Now," her tone became brisk. "Hand me your wand."

"What? Are you mad?" Draco stared at her, incredulous. What the devil was she playing at?

"It wouldn't be seemly for us to accidently be seen leaving here at the same time, would it? I'm just trying to hedge my bets." She smiled. "Don't worry, you'll get it back."

"Absolutely not."

Weasley frowned and pointed her wand at Draco's face. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, Malfoy. Wand. Now."

Grumbling, Draco pulled out his wand and handed it to the girl. "You're at least going to fix my nose, right?"

"I think it's an improvement. Your face was a bit too classically beautiful. Now this," she gestured at his nose, "this is a face that has character."

Draco perked up. "Beautiful? Weasley, I had no idea."

She glared at him. "Shut up. _Locomotor mortis_."

Draco felt both his legs spring together. The Leg Locker curse. "Weasley! What the hell are you doing? Give me back my wand right now!"

She turned to leave. "Get it yourself," she said casually over one shoulder. She sauntered halfway down the corridor and dropped his wand on the floor. He shouted curses at her back as she walked away. She didn't look back.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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As soon as she turned the corner, she ran.

She didn't stop until she made it to the Fat Lady. She was about to say the password when the portrait interrupted her.

"Good lord, child!" said the Fat Lady, sounding appalled. "What on earth happened to you?"

Ginny blinked and looked down. Her shirt was still unbuttoned halfway down her chest, and she was covered in blood from her cut hands. Luckily, the light from her chest had significantly decreased, and now it only seemed like she had an unusually pale patch of skin on her chest, perhaps a large birthmark.

The portrait looked at her critically. "I don't care who he is, you need to report him right away! No means no!"

"What?" said Ginny, immediately thinking of Draco. Then, as the full meaning of the Fat Lady's words dawned on her - "Oh god, no, it was nothing like that!" She took out her wand and mumbled a few spells. The blood disappeared from her clothes, and the cuts on her hands clumsily crusted over. Not her best work, but it would do. She buttoned her shirt.

The Fat Lady shook her head. "You're just like your brothers. They were always turning up at odd hours of the night, looking like they'd been boxing with trolls."

"Butterbeer," said Ginny, her mind on much more important things than Fred and George's past hijinks. Muttering something about disrespectful students who lacked discipline, the portrait swung open and admitted Ginny into Gryffindor Tower. She climbed through as quietly as possible.

"How'd it go?"

She jumped and nearly fell over, startled. She hadn't expected anyone else to be up. She looked over to the two chairs in front of the fire. In one sat Harry, deep asleep with his glasses askew and black hair untidy as ever. His lips were parted, and he was snoring very softly. In the other was Ron, his amber eyes locked on her with concern and mild suspicion. His tone was light, but she detected some underlying tension.

"Fine," she said. "What are you doing awake?"

"You think after what happened last time I'd just go to bed knowing you hadn't come back to the tower yet?" He shook his head. "No way."

"Well, I'm here!" Ginny gave a huge false smile. "Nothing to worry about. Now let's all just turn in." She nodded her head toward Harry. "Look, the poor thing's all tuckered out."

"Do you know what time it is?"

Ginny's smile faltered. So much had happened since she left Snape's class, and she really had no idea how much time could have passed.

"Oh, it can't be later than ten."

"Midnight, Ginny. It's midnight."

Ginny couldn't hide her surprise. _Midnight? But class started at 7:30, and true, it ran a little longer than usual, and then I took the potion, and then… _She blinked._ Shit._

"Wow!" she said, trying to recover herself with a laugh. "I must have been really into studying! I didn't even notice!"

"Library closes at ten, and that's for seventh years and students with special permission from their professors." Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Ginny looked at him anxiously. He usually did this when he was really stressed or really angry about something. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. "You want to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing happened!" protested Ginny loudly.

Harry turned and mumbled something in his sleep. Brother and sister turned to look at him for a moment, and when he didn't wake they turned back to each other. "Nothing happened," she repeated in a harsh whisper. "So don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? My sister turns up in the middle of the night with her hair a mess, her robes undone and no plausible excuse for where she's been, and I'm supposed to just go back to bed?" Ron shook his head. "I don't think so. Where were you?"

"Christ, Ron!" She threw her hands sarcastically in the air. "Better send out the aurors, my hair's a bit mussed, lord only knows what I could have gotten into!"

Ron was not amused.

"Why," Red crept into the tips of his ears and started to work its way down his face. "were you alone in the dungeons with Draco Malfoy?"

Ginny froze. "What did you just say?" Her voice was deadly.

"You heard me." Ron reached behind him and pulled out a tattered piece of parchment. Ginny knew what it was; she had seen her brother, Harry, and Hermione huddled around it before, whispering to each other about things they never felt the need to include Ginny in. It was the Marauder's Map.

"How _dare_ you," she spat. "How _dare_ you spy on me, Ronald Weasley! What right do you have-"

"What right? _What right?_" erupted Ron. Harry jumped and opened his eyes in surprised, finally awakened by the yelling. "You didn't come back! You think after last week I wouldn't want to keep on eye on you? You're my baby sister, Ginny! And you obviously need someone looking after you!"

"I don't need you to take care of me, Ron!"

In the back of her mind she registered shuffling noises, presumably made by students out of their beds.

"I think you bloody well do! You're obviously out of your mind!"

A door opened above them, and down the girls' staircase came Hermione. It sounded as if other doors were opening as well. "Ron, what are—"

Ron didn't notice anything. He continued full steam ahead.

"Draco fucking Malfoy, spawn of evil, probably Death Eater, our family's arch-nemesis! Don't you remember what his father did to you? And you, you're-" he pointed a finger at her dramatically, "—cavorting around with him like some, like some common—"

"You shut your mouth!" cried Ginny. She glanced anxiously over at Hermione. Hermione was looking from Ron to Ginny like she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"Like some common _slut_!"

Ginny felt like she'd been slapped. Harry's mouth was hanging open, and he looked at Ron incredulously. Hermione gasped in shock. Ron himself even looked a little surprised at the words, but he tried not to show it. Adapting a posture of authority, he spoke sharply to his sister.

"Whatever you've been doing, it needs to stop, right now. I don't care. I don't want to know. But it needs to stop. And," he added quickly, before Ginny could say anything, "you're not allowed to go to Snape's class anymore."

Ginny's face flushed hot with anger. "Excuse me?" she said poisonously. "I'm not _allowed_?"

Ron looked a little sheepish, but carried on regardless. "That's what I said. You're not allowed. I'll… I'll tell mum!" He finished lamely.

"Go to hell," spat Ginny. She couldn't believe the audacity of him. Not once, not in the fifteen and a half years since she'd been born could she ever remember him speaking to her the way he was tonight. "You think just because you see some dots on a map you know what's going on with me? You have no idea." She felt herself shaking with anger. "So please don't presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, and don't act like you're interested in my life."

"And just to be clear, I will do what I want," she took a step toward him, "when I want," she took another step, "with whomever I want, be it Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, or even Professor Snape!" she took another step and put her face in her brother's. She looked savagely into his eyes. "And there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me. You understand?"

He didn't say anything. He stared back at her just as angrily as she stared at him. She spun on her heel and pushed past Hermione. Behind her, she heard Harry say "Nice one, mate." She stomped up the stairs and tried her best to ignore the curious faces that were hanging out of each dorm's doorways. "Sod off, the lot of you!" she said crossly to a group of gawking first years.

Her four roommates – Emma Greenewood, Leonie Phillips, Maeve O'Neill, and Nadia Kirmani – had all stuck their heads out to hear the row. All but Nadia threw themselves guiltily away from the door as Ginny approached.

"Are you… um… okay?" asked Nadia warily.

Ginny bit back a nasty retort as she looked at Nadia. She had enough on her plate already; picking a fight with the girls she had to share a room with for two and a half more years probably wasn't going to make her life any easier.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She said hastily. "You know my brother, thick as pudding and always jumping to conclusions. Thank god idiocy isn't genetic."

"Yeah, right." Nadia gave a weak laugh. "Guess we all should just go back to bed, unless—"she eyed Ginny nervously, "you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Er, right."

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews, thank you for adding _The Widening Gyre _to your story alerts, and thank you for your patience.


	6. Not Even Worth a Second Glance

The Widening Gyre, Part 6: Not Even Worth a Second Glance

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J. K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_Last week, at this exact moment, I was thinking about her_, thought Draco crossly, picking at his breakfast, _and now this week, at this same exact moment, I'm thinking about her._

This simply wouldn't do.

After Ginny left, Draco had spent five minutes dragging himself across the floor of the corridor to reach his wand (nearly ruining a perfectly nice pair of trousers in the process). He performed a quick "Episkey!" on his nose to return it to its normal state and hauled ass to the Slytherin common room before he was caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris. Ignoring the questioning stares of his housemates, he stalked off to bed and pulled the curtains around him. He sank back against his overstuffed goose feather pillows.

He spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to absorb everything he had just seen. It didn't make sense; Ginny Weasley, cursed with dark magic. But what could it possibly be? Any sort of _imperious_ or mental charms would have shown in her skull, not her chest. Draco mulled it over inconclusively until he finally fell asleep in the silent hours of early morning.

A loud rushing sound filled the Great Hall as hundred of owls swooped in to deliver the mail. Draco spotted his family's large Eurasian Eagle Owl with a small parcel clutched in its talons; it plunged low, dropped the parcel neatly in Draco's lap, and immediately set off to return back to the manor. The Malfoy owl, much like Lucius himself, was beautiful, expensive, and impersonally efficient.

Draco looked at the package lazily, curious despite himself. Every two weeks his mother sent him a large package of sweets and pocket money with an endearing handwritten letter about how much she missed him and how she hoped to hear from him soon. He wasn't expecting one of those packages for another week. This particular parcel was small, scarcely larger than a pencil case, and his name was written in his father's elegant slanting copperplate.

He tore the brown paper off and found a letter and a small jewelry box. He opened the letter.

_Draco, _

His father didn't bother with endearments.

_I expect you are doing well and are excelling at your classes. I trust that by the end of this term your mother and I will receive news that you have finally reached the top of your class._

Draco exhaled roughly through his nose. As long as Hermione Granger was around, he'd never be at the top of his year. Try as he might, she was always just one or two points ahead of him. The thought of a mudblood doing better than his son irritated Lucius—and, truth be told, Draco-to no end.

_Enclosed in this parcel is a set of cufflinks that have been in the family for several generations. They belonged to your Great Uncle Herius Flavius Malfoy. Your mother and I had them taken out of the vault and polished to celebrate your coming-of-age._

_Consider them an early birthday gift from your mother and me. We hope you will wear them and reflect upon the importance of family and duty. Your mother is anxious for you to return for the holidays._

_Your father,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Draco set down the letter and picked up the jewelry box. He carefully removed the lid and looked inside.

The two cufflinks lay on a bed of plush black velvet. The body of each was made of silver. At the ends were flat polished discs of onyx.

_Subtle_, he thought. Some of the former Malfoys had been the unfortunate admirers of Baroque and Rococo styles, and Draco often took a stroll through that part of the family portrait gallery when he needed a good laugh. Unlike the other ancestors, this Great Uncle Herius had taste. He returned the lid to the box and looked back at his father's letter.

_We hope you will wear them and reflect upon the importance of family and duty? What the bloody hell does that mean?_

He shrugged, not really caring, then tossed both letter and jewelry box into his bag. He turned back to his breakfast and had a forkful of fried tomatoes halfway to his lips when Pansy Parkinson came stalking up beside him.

"How _could _you?" she hissed, obviously upset. Her face was screwed up in anger and streaked with the tell-tale traces of spent tears.

Draco calmly put the tomatoes into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he addressed Pansy.

"How could I _what_, Pansy?"

"You know what I'm talking about!"

"Pansy, I assure you," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She stared at him critically. "You mean to say you haven't heard the rumors that are flying all over the castle this morning?"

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Do you think I pay any attention to girlish gossip?" He took a moment to look around the Great Hall. To his surprise, he saw several people at each table looking at him and whispering animatedly behind theirs hands.

Blaise sank into an empty seat next to Draco. He slapped his friend on the back. "Draco, you dog! Why didn't you tell me last night? Is that why you were so late?"

Pansy looked irate. "So it's true, then, is it?"

Draco looked from Blaise's grinning face to Pansy's furious one. "What are you two on about?"

Blaise grin faded a bit, and he looked momentarily confused. "You did it!" he said. "You nailed her!"

At this, Pansy wailed and ran off.

Draco looked at Blaise as if he'd gone mad. "What? Nailed who?"

"C'mon, you know!" Blaise waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "What we talked about a few weeks ago? Your little copper trophy girl?" He pointed toward the Gryffindor table. "I see she's having a bit of a lie-in. Exhausted her, eh?"

Realization dawned on Draco. "You think I slept with Ginny Weasley?"

"Everyone's talking about it," said Goyle, sitting across from Draco and Blaise, as he helped himself to a messy pile of eggs. Yolk splattered onto his tie. "Pansy heard it from one of the fifth years who has a friend in Ravenclaw who heard it from her sister, Parvati Patil. You know, the hot twin?"

"The hot twin?" Blaise interrupted. "Goyle, they're twins! They look exactly the same!"

"Yeah, but Padma's a bit of a shrew, isn't she?" said Crabbe, who was sitting next to Goyle. He sloppily smeared some marmalade on a piece of toast. "Parvati wears those low-cut tops whenever there's a Hogsmeade weekend." He took a bite. "Hot," he said thickly.

"So how'd Parvati hear about it?" asked Draco, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Apparently Weasley and our luscious little cherry had a huge row last night, as soon as she got back to their common room." Blaise poured himself some orange juice and laughed. "Weasley just tore right into her, called her a slut. Other parties," he looked at Draco significantly, "were mentioned."

"He called you 'spawn of evil'," said Crabbe helpfully.

"And a Death Eater," added Goyle.

"Right."

"So tell us about it!" said Blaise. "Were we right? You 'broke the seal,' so to speak? Boldly flew where no man's broomstick has flown before?"

"No." said Draco shortly.

Blaise's eyes widened in surprise. "You don't mean to say she's had practice?" He shook his head. "Cor, if I'd known that, I would've been all over her like flies on a honey pot." Crabbe and Goyle nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"No," said Draco impatiently. "I didn't sleep with her. I didn't have anything to do with her."

Crabbe and Goyle looked a bit deflated. Blaise narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You left class before I did, and you didn't get back to the dorm 'til past midnight." He said. "So, if you weren't deflowering Weasley, what were you doing?"

"Nothing."

Blaise was still eyeing him. "Nothing? Nothing kept you out for two hours past curfew?"

Draco thought quickly. "I… went to the hospital wing."

"The hospital wing?" asked Goyle surprised. "What happened?"

"I didn't finish my homework for Transfiguration," lied Draco smoothly. "I wanted to see if I could fake out sick so I wouldn't get in trouble with McGonagall."

Crabbe nodded understandingly. Goyle looked horrified; obviously he had forgotten about the assignment completely. Blaise, however, was not so easily convinced, but knew from dealing with Draco before that when the boy didn't want to admit something, he wouldn't do it under minor coercion. He let the subject drop.

"So, just to be clear," said Crabbe. "You didn't shag her?"

"Hasn't that been the point of the whole conversation?" asked Draco irritably. "Really, Crabbe, could you get any thicker?" He grabbed his bag and left the breakfast table. Blaise's eyes were on his back the whole time.

At the same moment, Ronald Weasley got up from the Gryffindor table. Harry Potter warily did the same. They followed Draco out of the Great Hall.

"Malfoy!"

_Somehow, I knew this was coming_, thought Draco sarcastically, as Ron Weasley's voice called out his name in the corridor.

Knowing he would have to face that goon sooner or later, Draco stopped and turned around. "Weasley, I know you're shit at quidditch, but I'm terribly sorry, I just don't have time to show you how to properly handle a broomstick."

Weasley's face immediately turned red. Draco smirked. _It's just too easy_, he thought.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing with my sister, Malfoy?"

Draco hadn't expected Weasley to waste time with any petty pleasantries. He was pleased to see that he was right. The boy was so predictable.

Draco arched his brows at Weasley. "What are you accusing me of doing?"

Weasley tried to take a step forward, but Potter grabbed hold of his left arm and held him back. Weasley shook his friend off. "Don't play dumb! You know what I'm talking about!"

"Oh?" Draco laughed mockingly. "You mean that the whole school's saying I fucked your sister?"

Something in Weasley's face snapped. Without warning, he lunged forward and tackled Draco to the floor.

The corridor erupted with noise. "RON, NO!" Draco heard the mudblood shout as Weasley mounted his chest and punched him squarely in the jaw. Spurred on by the taste of his own blood, he quickly grabbed Weasley's arms and pushed the tall boy off. The two rolled around on the floor, each grappling with each other to hold the other one down to get another hit in. Weasley's elbow flew in Draco's eye. Draco managed to get on top and held Weasley's chest down with his left forearm as he struck him hard in the face. Someone tried to grab at Draco, and he swung wildly out to knock away whoever it was.

"WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Professor McGonagall's voice roared in the hall. Silence fell, and everyone stopped moving. Draco took advantage of the lull to jab Weasley hard in the stomach before he was dragged off by Professor Snape. Hagrid darted forward to restrain Weasley, who was snarling at Draco like a mad dog.

"Keep your filthy hands off her, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted.

Draco spat blood onto the floor of the corridor, aimed toward Weasley's feet.

"That dirty little chit isn't even worth a second glance from me," he said evenly, as Professor Snape pulled him down the hall. The crowed parted slightly to admit the professor and his struggling student. As he was hauled off, his steely silver eyes locked with a pair of bright, furious brown ones:

Ginny.

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"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"He had it coming," said Draco airily.

"Regardless of how valid you feel your actions were, Mr. Malfoy," snapped Snape, "fighting is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

They were down in the dungeons, in Snape's office. Professor Snape stood behind his heavy dark wood desk, his arms crossed. His face remained impassible as ever, but behind his eyes was an expression of disappointment and annoyance. They stared into Draco's. Draco tried not to squirm.

Draco was full of contempt for the majority of the Hogwarts faculty. Had he been in anyone else's office, he would have scoffed and thrown around his upper-crust accent and societal superiority, just for annoyance. McGonagall, although talented, was a bit of a tight-assed termagant; Flitwick and Sprout were ridiculous beyond measure; and the idea of Hagrid and Trelawney actually shaping the minds of youth was laughable to anyone who didn't know the sordid reality of their being teachers. To Draco, Professor Snape was the one redemptive quality of Hogwarts, a bright beacon of intelligence and skill in a sea of incompetence. Professor Snape didn't fuck around; Draco respected that.

"He started it," Draco mumbled. He could still taste blood in his mouth, and his jaw was sore and bruised. Snape continued to stare at him.

"Your behavior was reprehensible at best. If you are in control of your emotions, you should never need to resort to physical violence. Your actions were vulgar and disrespectful to the trust we've put in you as a prefect. What do you think your father would have said?"

Draco thought back to the summer before his second year, when his father got into a fistfight with Arthur Weasley in Flourish and Blotts. "Somehow, in this case, I think he might make an exception."

Snape slammed both his fists down on his desk. Draco jumped, startled. "Do not act flippant with me, Draco! You, believe it or not, are no longer a child, and as such you must be held responsible for your actions and the choices you make."

Draco became indignant. "Like I had a choice! He came right at me!"

Snape sat down in his chair and looked seriously at Draco. "One of the most important things you will ever learn is that there is always a choice. Good or bad, wrong or right, everything you do has repercussions, some of which you might not fully understand until one day they blindside you. Even something as simple as not making a decision is an active choice." He looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn't.

Draco was vaguely intrigued but still annoyed at the reprimand. "So you're saying I should have lay down and let him beat the crap out of me?"

"No," said Snape, "and you know full well that's not what I mean. Did you not deserve, in some way, any signs of hostility from your classmate?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said automatically. "How could I have deserved an unsolicited violent attack?"

"I may not be a student, but I do have ears. Precious few things stay secret in this castle. I'm under the impression something may have happened between you and a certain young lady after my class last night?"

"Christ!" said Draco exasperated. "Is there a single person who doesn't think I slept with that girl?"

"Doubtful, as I heard it while passing Ms. Brown on the way into the Great Hall this morning," said Snape blandly. "I can't say I could possibly sanction such behavior. You know this school has strict rules concerning male-female fraternization."

Draco sneered and thought of his broken nose. "Oh, I assure you, there was no fraternizing."

Snape looked at him doubtfully. "I ask this not only as your head of house, but as your mentor," Snape picked his words carefully, "and I must indeed ask—what, if anything, happened?"

"Nothing like that!" said Draco. "You think she'd let me get close enough to touch her?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He was embarrassed, but didn't blush. Instead, he looked at Snape defiantly, as if daring the man to judge him. Snape merely glanced at him with minimal interest.

"Do you want her to?" he asked mildly, arching his right eyebrow curiously.

"I don't want anything to do with her!" said Draco vehemently, at the same time thinking of her thin bloody fingers slowly unbuttoning her blouse to reveal milky white skin underneath. The lock of her stolen hair burned a hole in his pocket. "And I still don't understand why you're making us be potions partners. I was doing perfectly fine until she showed up."

"Don't you think that's part of the reason I'm asking you to work together?"

Draco looked suspicious. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

"We both know your potions work is exemplary. But perhaps there are other aspects of your character that need improvement. Patience with others, for one," said Snape, looking at Draco critically. "and perhaps some control over your temper."

"I'm perfectly in control!" said Draco angrily. Snape shot him a wry look, and Draco had the grace to flush. "Usually." he mumbled. "Anyway, I don't see what she has to do with any of this."

"Of course you don't," said Snape. "You're a sixteen year old boy, and a foolishly headstrong one at that. How could you possibly see the use in improvement through adversity?"

"I thought you just said I'm not a child!" Draco protested, quite offended.

"In some ways, yes. In others, no. You're old enough to be making your own adult decisions, yet you still insist on acting like a child."

Draco tried hard not to roll his eyes. "Professor, you're starting to sound as cracked as Trelawney."

The ghost of a smile spread in Snape's eyes. "Ten points from Slytherin for fighting, Mr. Malfoy, and you'll serve detention with me Monday night." he said. "Please don't allow me to hear anything in the future about you breaking curfew or running off with female classmates. I'm willing to extend my trust this time, but I don't want to be disappointed."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"I suspect you will reflect upon today's altercation and change your behavior in our potions lectures accordingly?" Snape looked at Draco sardonically.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," said Snape, casually pulling out a quill and stack of essays that wanted grading. "I daresay your lab partner heard what you said about her whilst we were leaving."

Draco made a face. "I'll be catching hell for that, won't I?"

"Knowing Miss Weasley's talent for hexes, I would recommend avoiding deserted corridors. Now, go to the hospital wing and let Madam Pomfrey look at your jaw."

If Draco hadn't known better, he would have said Snape sounded amused.

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Ginny knew there were enough faces curiously poking out of dorm room doorways last night to guarantee the rumors would spread through the castle quicker than Harry Potter could catch a snitch in a match against Hufflepuff. Even so, Hogwarts had outdone itself this time; Ginny felt every pair of eyes swivel toward her as she walked down the corridors, followed by barely-concealed whispering and giggles.

She wasn't talking to anyone. Lavender Brown had accosted her on the stairwell before she had even made it to the common room and eagerly asked _was it true_?

Ginny had just shouldered past her rudely without responding. Lavender seemed to have interpreted this as a "yes," and had since told everyone she saw that Ginny Weasley had been caught in the dungeons _in flagrante_ with Draco Malfoy late last night.

_Guess I didn't need to take such precautions to make sure we weren't seen_, thought Ginny to herself, thinking of Draco leg-locked on the floor with bruises spreading against his probably broken nose. She sighed. _At least I got a good one in_, she thought regretfully. She actually felt a little bad about hurting him, git though he was, but at the time she wasn't thinking very clearly.

She hadn't seen her brother; she assumed he had already gone down to breakfast. She had purposely waited for Gryffindor Tower to clear out a bit before she left (not that that had stopped Lavender, but still). She didn't want to see him. There was not a single civil thing she could think to say. Her blood began to boil just thinking about him. Of _all the rotten, unjustified things to say to someone_, she thought angrily. Her brow furrowed. _And he wouldn't even take a chance to listen to my side of the story!_

_Of course_, another voice inside her piped up, _you weren't exactly a beacon of honesty yourself last night, were you?_

She thought about looking down and seeing her heart lit up with ghostly light. Then she thought about lying to her brother. And then she thought about Malfoy and everything he must have seen.

_You got bigger problems than Ron right now._

_Right._

Shaking her head to snap herself out of her ridiculous inner monologue, Ginny looked up and was surprised to find herself near the Great Hall. She had choked down a chocolate frog before she left the dorm and had resigned herself to skipping breakfast (feeling hunger a better alternative to facing the stares and crude remarks of the entire school), and yet her feet had found their way here of their own accord. She stopped and was about to turn around when Draco Malfoy came stalking out into the hallway. He didn't see her.

And then, suddenly, she heard her brother shout "Malfoy!"

_Oh, this isn't going to be good_, she thought grimly.

She watched warily as Malfoy made some insult about Ron's quidditch skills, and then the two began to argue. Ron shouted-"Don't play dumb! You know what I'm talking about!"

"Oh?" Draco laughed mockingly. "You mean that the whole school's saying I fucked your sister?"

Ginny's mouth opened in outrage, and then let out a gasp as her brother ran at Malfoy and tackled him to the ground. Ron, although short-tempered, was not a particularly violent person, and Ginny was surprised to see her brother start the fight. She couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of sympathy as she heard the _thump_ Malfoy made as he hit the ground heavily with Ron on top of him.

As the fight started, it looked like Ron had the upper hand. He punched Draco hard in the face. Draco pushed the taller boy off and the two scuffled. Ginny winced as she saw her brother's elbow hit Draco's eye. Draco managed to flip the boy over and straddled him, one arm splayed across Ron's chest to force him down and the other laying into his stomach with short sharp jabs. She saw a hint of blood at the corner of his mouth.

After what seemed like ages, Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Hagrid finally came to break up the fight.

"Keep your filthy hands off her, Malfoy!" her brother shouted as Hagrid pulled him away from the other boy. Ginny had never seen her brother look so angry before.

She also had never seen Draco look so, for lack of a better word, _manly._ She thought he was striking, and many agreed; with his fair skin, pale hair and eyes like wet shale, Draco brought to mind archangels and words like _beautiful_ and _graceful_. His face was both arresting and delicate.

Now, though, his usually perfect hair had been mussed from the fight and stood up in different directions; his tie had been yanked aside and the first buttons of his shirt ripped open, exposing his collarbones, which were covered in a thin sheen of sweat; his eyes were burning wild and bright like falling stars; his chest was heaving heavily with exertion; and his mouth was smeared with streaks of his own blood.

_Holy shit_, thought Ginny, unconsciously echoing Draco's statement of several weeks before. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time; she felt like a woman lost in the desert gazing in half-dazed disbelief at the shimmering oasis in the distance. Her heart grew hot and started beating fast, and she felt her face grow flushed.

"That dirty little chit isn't even worth a second glance from me," said Draco evenly, as Professor Snape pulled him down the hall.

Her attraction quickly turned into anger, and any sympathy she may have felt for him while he was beaten by her brother vanished. She set her mouth into a hard, thin line, and glared at him as Professor Snape dragged him away from the entrance to the Great Hall and past her.

Draco looked up and right into Ginny's eyes. His widened slightly in surprise; obviously he hadn't realized she was there. In her mind, she tried to channel all her rage and hate so she could shoot them like laser beams through her eyes and into Malfoy's skull. He kept staring at her as Snape held onto his upper arm and pulled him around a corner.

Immediately after the boys were removed, the haul erupted with chatter. The students closest to Ginny turned to stare at her.

"Classes start in two minutes!" barked Professor McGonagall. The students scurried down the corridors in various directions, gossip streaming from their mouths.

Ginny sighed and shuffled off towards Charms.

_It's going to be a long day._

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews, thank you for adding _The Widening Gyre _to your story alerts, and thank you for your patience.


	7. Vexed to Nightmare

The Widening Gyre, Part 7: Vexed to Nightmare

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J. K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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_Ginny had spent most of the last few days researching. _

In between classes, before breakfast, after dinner – every minute not spent sleeping, eating, or in class was spent pouring over moldy tomes at a solitary table in the back of the library. She had referenced and cross-referenced every variation on the words "curse," "hex," and "jinx" she could think of, but it was, so far, to no avail.

_If only Hermione wasn't being such a stupid priss_, thought Ginny, _I'd probably get a lot further with this whole researching thing. _

Hermione seemed to have sided with Ron on this one. Ginny wasn't particularly good friends with the older girl, but a bit of female solidarity would have been nice. Unlike Ron, Hermione was still occasionally speaking to Ginny, though her tone was clipped and frosty. Ginny wasn't sure if Hermione was acting this way out of annoying moral superiority, as a result of six years of Malfoy's Mudblood cracks, or to try and stay on Ron's good side (Hermione was playing the part of nursemaid to a tee; Draco had really laid into Ron toward the end of the fight, but Hermione was fixing both his bruises and his fractured ego). Whatever the case, it seemed a bit unfair.

Ron simply refused to speak to her, and when he accidently ran into his sister in the hall or common room, his face turned red and he turned around and stalked off, even if he was in the middle of a conversation. He'd also turned out worse off from the fight, which didn't make his demeanor any more plesant.

Ginny's roommates, on the other hand, spent every second pestering her about her supposed relationship with Draco. What was he like, really? Was he romantic? How did they get together? And, more importantly, what did he look like with his robes off?

Out of everyone, it was Harry who was the most sympathetic. He had approached her late the night after the fight. She was the only one left awake in the common room, as usual. She heard his soft footfalls on the stairs before she saw him and turned in her seat, saying coldly "Ron, if you just came down here to—"

She stopped when she saw him. "Oh, sorry Harry," she said quietly, surprised.

He shrugged awkwardly. His hands were in the pockets of his dark plaid pajama pants, and his hair was untidy as ever. It looked like he'd been in bet for a bit before coming down. He smiled nervously. "Hi, Gin."

Ginny smiled back. "Hi. Couldn't sleep?"

"Nah," he said, and sank down next to her on the couch in front of the fire. He smelled like soap and peppermint. "Couldn't. Too many things on my mind."

Ginny laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I can relate."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'm sure you can, more so than most anyway." He sighed. "Sorry about Ron."

Ginny shrugged. "Whatever. He thinks what he wants to think, regardless of what's right in front of his face. I'm not going out of my way to try and change his mind. Not like I could, anyway," she grumbled darkly. She flicked the side of the couch cushion. "And of course everyone believes him and doesn't pay any attention to what I've got to say."

"Yeah, about that," Harry said tensely. He ran a hand nervously through his hair, only making it messier. "I just wanted to, er, well, ask if you were ok?" He ended it as a question, anxious and unsure of himself. He turned his green eyes sincerely toward Ginny's.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something sarcastic, but stopped as she looked at Harry. Her heart melted a little. His eyes were large and genuine underneath his glasses, and he looked at her earnestly, the way a child would if it were handling something precious. She didn't say anything, so he continued.

"It's just, you remember when everything with the Triwizard Tournament happened, and what everyone said about me and all those horrible things that Skeeter woman wrote, right? And even though it wasn't true, nobody really believed me. Not even," he smiled dryly, "not even Ron, not right away." He took a deep breath. "So, I just wanted you to know, that if you say you didn't, uh, do anything with Malfoy, then I believe you." His face turned red in embarrassment. "Er, that's all."

She regarded him quietly for a moment, and then said "Thank you. That means a lot, Harry. Thanks."

Harry smiled shyly at her, evidently relieved at how he'd managed to handle the situation. "And, you know, don't worry about Ron, he'll come 'round."

Ginny didn't say anything; she merely snorted in disbelief.

"I told him not to use that map, but he wouldn't listen to me. But, I mean," he said, very slowly and carefully, "it did show that you two were, well, together." He bit his lip nervously.

Ginny looked at him calculatingly. "I'm not surprised that it did," she said evenly.

"Well," said Harry, "don't you think that—maybe—you should just tell Ron what happened?"

Ginny sighed. "Look, Harry, I appreciate that you're trying to look out for me, but please believe me when I say that it's nobody's business. And even if it was, if Ron wants to know he should ask me himself."

"Well, he tried to ask you, didn't he?" Harry pointed out cautiously.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," Ginny admitted. "But he didn't do a very nice job of it."

Harry laughed a little. "You know Ron. Curse first, ask questions later." His face sobered. "He's just acting this way because he's worried about you. Something's obviously going on."

"What makes you say that?" she asked smoothly.

"Look at who you're talking to, Ginny," said Harry seriously, but not unkindly. "Secrets are my M.O. I can tell when someone's up to something."

Ginny smiled and shrugged. "Good point, Harry Potter."

"Besides," he said, a grin creeping up on his face, "showing up at midnight without an alibi isn't exactly the height of subtlety, you know what I mean?"

She laughed. "Time escaped me," she said simply.

He shook his head. "If you don't want to tell me, I won't bother you about it. But," he paused, and looked down at his hands. He played with his fingers nervously. "I know you and I aren't really close or anything like that, but Gin, I want you to know, I really…" he paused and looked away.

Ginny waited with slightly bated breath. She wasn't naïve enough to think this was going where she had given up hope of it _ever_ going, but her heart was still thumping heavily in her chest against her will. _Don't even think about it_, she told herself. _Not after all this time, don't you dare._

"I really think of you as someone important to me. I mean, you know," Harry backtracked, flustered, "you and Ron and everyone. You're basically all the family I've got. Not that I think of you, in particular, as a member of my family," His entire face was the exact shade of the sweaters Mrs. Weasley knit every year for Ron. "Just, you know, you're just someone I… care about?"

Ginny stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What?" she asked, completely bewildered.

"Ahh, that didn't come out right," he said, frustrated with himself. "I guess, what I mean to say is, if you need any help, with anything, or just, even, anyone to talk to," he took a deep breath, "I'm totally here for you. If you… need me."

Ginny looked at him seriously, trying to figure out what exactly the undertone of his words was. His face was completely red, and he looked anxious, like his insides were a balloon threatening to burst.

"Um, th-thanks, Harry," she said quietly, not knowing exactly what was happening.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "No problem," he said, and he smiled broadly at her. The smile transformed his face entirely, casting off the tension and anxiety that had been there throughout the entire conversation. Then, tentatively, as if he were trying to touch a wild animal, he reached out and gently put his right hand over her left.

Ginny froze in shock, not knowing what to do.

He gave her hand a soft squeeze, and then released it. Still smiling softly, he said "G'night, Gin," and retreated back to the boys' dormitories.

Ginny turned back toward the fire, her head swimming with all sorts of new and strange ideas.

_Was that what I bloody well think it was?_

That had been last Friday. Now it was Tuesday night, and after four days of hard work she still had grown no closer to discovering what curse Tom Riddle could have possibly laid on her (not to mention figured out what Harry was playing at, but that was currently the least of her worries).

Still, despite her lack of progress, she wouldn't call that time in the library wasted. Every minute she spent researching was a minute she didn't have to face the rest of the student body. Despite Draco's dramatic pronouncement at the end of the fight, the violence between him and Ron just added further fuel to the fire. As long as she was hidden away in the library, she couldn't be asked about the details of Draco's anatomy, called _slut_ in vicious half-whispers as she walked down the hall, or propositioned by any boy who wanted to try their chances with _Easy Weasley_.

She also wouldn't run into Draco himself. Perhaps it was just that she'd never had cause to notice before, but she seemed to be passing him in the halls and bumping into him when turning corners in the corridor more than she thought possible in a place as big as Hogwarts. She would have said he was stalking her if he hadn't looked just as genuinely surprised when she ran headfirst into him as she walked out of the Great Hall two days earlier. He had opened bruised mouth to say something to her, but she ran off before he could get any words out.

She sighed loudly and slammed down the cover of the _Encyclopedia of Unfortunate Spells_. She looked down at the piece of parchment on the table in front of her.

_Symptoms_, she had written on it. _Nightmares. Reaction to Darkness Detection Potion. Possible problems with heart._ That was all she had so far. Not much to go on, but it would have to do until more signs of the curse revealed themselves. She picked up the encyclopedia and returned it to the shelf. She was about to leave, but hesitated.

_I'll just check one more book_, she thought to herself. She stepped three stacks away from her table, turned around one of the large bookcases, and found herself face-to-neck with Draco Malfoy.

"Ahh!" she let out a noise of surprise and took a step back. "Malfoy!" she narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. His elegant face still showed the signs of the previous week's fight. He narrowed his eyes to match hers. "It's the library, Weasley," he said condescendingly, "I'm reading." He held up his book to show her. It was a large, musty old volume entitled _Ancient Curses and Their Applications_.

Ginny snorted in disbelief. That was the exact book she had come back to get. "What're you doing with that? Finding ways to torture your enemies?"

"No," he said simply, "more like trying to find out what's torturing my enemies for me." He laughed as her face adopted a look of surprise. "What, you didn't think I was going to go to bed and forget about your little performance last week, did you?" He shook his head. "No, this is far too good to leave unexplored. Even though you and your brother keep trying to destroy my beautiful face."

She stared at him coldly and angrily. "Why would you want to help me? I thought I 'wasn't worth a second glance' from you," she threw his words of the previous week at him like spears. She felt her heart rate speed up and her face grow hot with anger.

"Help you?" he repeated with disdain. "I didn't say anything about helping you." He shrugged. "This is the most interesting thing to happen so far this year. You think when presented with a choice between watching you fall victim to some ancient and possibly violent curse and having pillow-chats with Crabbe and Goyle, I'm going to go for the genius twins?" He waved the book around with his right hand. "Infinitely more stimulating, I assure you. One can only argue the authenticity of Professor Sinistra's breasts so many times before one starts to actually lose IQ points."

Ginny was still furious, but part of her didn't want to send the boy away. She looked again at the book he held and tried not to reveal how much she wanted it. "Have you found anything interesting?"

Draco smiled lazily. "Perhaps." He cocked his head to the side in an arrogant manner, "But why should I tell you? You and your brother have already shown violent tendencies toward me, and I had to serve a detention last night because of you." He wrinkled his nose. "De-mildewing the student ingredients cupboard does not befit a Malfoy."

"How about," Ginny clenched and unclenched her fists, trying not to allow herself to be baited by his conceit. "you help me because when I was doing my research, I found a curse that will make thick purple scales grow on your balls."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Always with the dick shots, eh Weasley? One might say you've got a bit of an obsession with my broomstick."

Ginny glared. "Shut up, Malfoy, I've heard enough of that from the rest of the students at this damn school."

"And I'm much obliged. You've done wonders for my already stellar popularity ratings."

She glowered at him. "So have you found anything or not?"

He shrugged. "Where're you sitting? I'll bring my stuff over and show you." He smiled slyly. Ginny grew annoyed at how striking it made him, especially with the bruises that still ornamented his face. He had the sexy bad-boy shtick down pat. "But only if we can continue to have these tender interludes."

"The only thing that'll be feeling tender when I'm through with you is your face, Malfoy, and it'll be because I've thrown my fists at it." She wouldn't, of course, but it felt good to say.

He grinned. "Me-_ow_, Weasley. Has anyone ever told you how attractive threatening bodily harm makes you?"

"Malfoy, shut up."

"I'll take that as a no, they haven't, and a yes, you'll show me right to your table."

Ginny pursed her lips and stared at him. His eyes glittered darkly with amusement, but try as she might she couldn't detect any blatant cruelty in them. At least, not at the current moment. Mentally, she was shouting _Go to hell!_, but she found a small part of herself wanting him to stay. He had the book she wanted, after all, and it would help to have another person doing some research. Add that to the fact that he was basically the only person in the castle talking _to_ her and not _about_ her, and she basically had enough grounds to admit his presence.

But she still wanted to figure out his angle. "You can't stand me or my family," she said simply. "so why the sudden interest in my life?"

Draco shrugged contemptuously. "Hogwarts is dull as dust, and the closest I have to playing with something intriguing and possibly dangerous is you. You think I'm going to turn my nose up at something this strange just because you irritate me?"

Ginny snorted inelegantly. "You're quite the wooer, Malfoy. Do all the ladies fall for your charms?"

Draco smirked. "Only the ones who know what's good for them."

"Well thank god I can't seem to take care of myself," replied Ginny sarcastically. She pointed to the stacks behind her. "I'm sitting over there. You can join if you promise not to be a complete bastard."

Draco shot her a grin that Ginny tried not to think was charming. "I'll do my best."

She rolled her eyes. "Much obliged."

She led him to her table and roughly shoved a stack of unhelpful books aside to make room for him. He sat down and thumped the heavy volume on the surface of the table. She sat down next to him and looked at him expectantly. "So?" she asked.

Draco grinned. "Haven't found a thing."

Ginny pursed her lips and angrily exhaled through her nose. "Nothing? What was all that 'oh, I'll show you,'" she mocked him with a high-pitched, sing-song voice. Draco laughed, which only served to annoy Ginny further.

"It served a purpose. Got me here, didn't it?" He winked, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"How come your face is still bruised?" she asked suddenly. "You're so vain, I figure you'd have healed them by now."

Draco scowled. "Madam Pomfrey refused to fix them. She said I should 'bear the marks of my uncouth behavior' or something like that. Absolute rubbish." He shook his head. "Really, why do they pay that woman? And I'm not vain. I'm honest about my own natural gifts."

Ginny stared at him, unimpressed. "Does it still hurt?"

"Hell yes. I got punched in the face, what do you think? And," he added, "need I remind you it was on top of other injuries which someone so rudely gave me?"

Ginny squirmed. "Yeah, um, sorry 'bout that," she said quickly and blushed. Draco stared at her. "I mean," she continued, yanking on a piece of her hair, "you probably didn't _quite_ deserve it. From me, that is. You're accountable for your own idiocy with my brother."

Draco looked at her shrewdly. "Apology accepted," he said. "But only because you didn't hit me again for what I said in the Great Hall."

"Though I probably should," she said pointedly. "Even though I'm not a violent person by nature."

"Mmm hmm," Draco murmured skeptically. "Your actions suggest otherwise."

"Come here," she said, rolling her eyes. He looked at her distrustfully. "Malfoy, I'm not going to hit you."

"Riiiight," he drawled, but still moved his chair over a few centimeters.

"Lean in your face closer to mine."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Weasley, are you propositioning me?" he asked playfully.

"Oh, gross! Shut up!" she said, ignoring the strange new flutter in her chest as she looked at his face. _Probably just indigestion_. "Here, let me see your face." She took out her wand.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked immediately, eyeing her wand as if it was about to shoot sparks at him.

"Quiet." She gingerly touched the fingertips of her right hand to his mouth. He flinched.

"Ow, careful."

"Don't be such a baby." She probed him carefully, then lifted her wand and drew it along the line of his jaw, muttering. The skin still looked bruised. She touched the same spots, but this time he didn't wince. She withdrew her fingers.

Draco brought his right hand up to his face and touched his skin. He moved his jaw back and forth. "You fixed me?" he asked, surprised.

"I left the marks, though," she said, "so you don't get in trouble."

He looked at her strangely. "Thanks, Weasley. That was decent of you."

She shrugged. "I owed you. For last week."

He shook his head. "No, you didn't. But thanks anyway."

Ginny felt suddenly embarrassed. "Whatever. I have work to do. Are you going to stay and help?"

"Not help," he said, and turned to open _Ancient Curses and Their Applications. _"I'm researching this purely for my own selfish, personal reasons."

Ginny grabbed a book off the table and opened it to a random page. "Whatever. Just let me know if you find anything."

"Weasley?" Draco asked a few minutes later. He didn't deign to look up from his book.

Ginny looked over to him. His head was still bent over the text, apparently absorbed in whatever he was reading. "What is it? Did you find something?"

"How come your brother thinks we're seeing each other?" His face was unreadable.

That was the last thing Ginny expected to hear. "What?"

He looked over to her. "How come," his voice was light, "your brother thinks we're seeing each other? Did you tell him that?"

"What? No. God no." She shook her head vociferously. Draco looked offended. "No, there's nothing wrong with you." Now he looked intrigued. Ginny became flustered. "I mean, yes there is!"

Draco began to stare at her as if she'd grown an extra eye. Ginny took a deep breath to collect herself. "I mean," she began evenly, her face still crimson, "that no, I did not tell Ron we were dating. He said some stupid things, I got angry at them, and I didn't think to correct all the details."

Draco looked pensive. "I can see that happening. He does tend to constantly shove his foot in his own mouth. It's a family trait?"

Ginny opened her mouth to retaliate when she recognized amusement sparkling in Draco's eyes. "You git! You're just trying to wind me up!"

"True," said Draco, smiling haughtily. "You Weasleys are just so easy to aggravate, and your overreaction _does_ amuse me so."

"Are you telling me that you purposely make Ron angry because it _amuses_ you?" Ginny asked incredulously.

Draco shrugged. "Everyone's got to have hobbies. Can't play Quidditch all the time; I need something to occupy me when I'm stuck in the castle."

Ginny shook her head incredulously. "You," she said, "are simply… unbelievable."

"I know."

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o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

"I think something's wrong with your sister."

Ron paused midway through turning a page in his copy of _Which Broomstick_. He didn't look at Harry. "I know something's wrong with her," he replied. "She's dating the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

"No," said Harry. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed and faced Ron, who was lying on his back on his. Seamus, Dean and Neville were still at dinner. Harry and Ron had eaten early for the sixth night in a row so Ron could continue to avoid Ginny. "I mean, I think there's something _wrong_ with her, Ron. _Seriously_."

Ron sighed and closed his magazine. "Harry, are you just making this up so I'll go and talk to her?"

Harry looked at Ron critically. "No, I'm not. Haven't you noticed anything different about her?"

Ron grunted angrily. "You mean besides the fact she seems to have forgotten all sense of family pride and honor?"

"No!" said Harry, becoming exasperated. He threw his hands animatedly in the air. "I mean how she looks, how she acts!" He shook his head. "She never sleeps anymore."

Ron's head snapped around to look at Harry. "How would you know?" he demanded, staring down Harry in a most accusatory manner.

"Ron, calm down," said Harry. "Nothing like that. It's just, you know I don't get much sleep, especially now, knowing that Voldemort's out there." Ron shuddered involuntarily when Harry said the Dark Lord's name. "So sometimes I go down to the common room instead of just sitting up here. And she's down there, still awake, at three or four in the morning."

"So she can't sleep, she's wracked with guilt at how she's acting," said Ron with an apparent lack of concern. "Good. I hope she's losing sleep over it."

"Not just since last week. I started noticing it right away, from the beginning of this year. And she doesn't look so good, either. She's got those dark circles under her eyes."

Ron glared at Harry. "You've been paying her a lot of attention, have you now?" he said irritably.

Harry blushed. "So maybe I have. I care about her, Ron, and I know you do to!"

Ron shrugged. "You heard what she said to me. She wants to take care of herself. She's a grown woman and all that, doesn't need any help from anyone."

Harry shook his head. "You're just mad because you think she's with Malfoy."

Ron looked angrily at Harry. "And what if I am? Our family's fought with the Malfoys for generations! It's not right!" he said passionately, "And after all the awful things he's said about us, and Hermione, and even Neville, and she's just willing to forget all that for a pretty face and… and whatever else!" He punched his pillows. "Damn teenage girls! When we all go back for Christmas, I'll tell mum and dad to lock her in her room and not let her out until she's thirty."

"She's not dating Malfoy," said Harry simply.

"How do you know?"

"I know because she told me."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes."

Ron frowned. "She told you she wasn't? Then why did she say she was?"

"Well, if you'd take a minute to reflect on your fight, you'd remember that you didn't exactly give her motivation to confide in you, mate. She didn't lie so much as… not tell you everything," said Harry lamely. He picked at his bedspread and didn't look at Ron.

Ron frowned. "Well, what do you think's wrong with her, then?" he asked Harry. "Is she sick or something?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know. But whatever it is, she won't tell me."

"Probably just, you know," Ron made a face, "_girl problems_."

Harry bit his lip and shook his head again. "I don't think it's that simple."

"It's probably all in your head, Harry."

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe. But maybe not."

"Mmm," Ron muttered noncommittally. "How's Cho?" he asked suddenly.

"Cho? Cho Chang?"

Ron gave Harry a look. "What other Cho is there? Yes, Cho Chang, Ravenclaw, attractive, Harry Potter's secret heartache since third year or so?"

Harry scoffed. "Secret heartache? You sound like Rita Skeeter."

"So what's going on there? You talked to her lately?"

"No," said Harry. "She's with Marcus Belby now." He scowled. "Said she can't be troubled with boys who take risks anymore, not after Cedric. Needs someone 'reliable.' Hmmph."

"So you're moving on to green pastures?"

Harry threw a pillow at Ron. "Come off it."

"Harry, you're my best mate, yeah? Friends since day one?"

Harry looked surprised. "'Course Ron."

"And you know that no matter what happens, you'll always be my best mate, yeah?"

Now Harry just looked confused. "Er, yeah. What's your point?"

"I just wanted to let you know that if you do anything to make my sister cry, I'm duty-bound to kick your ass. But we'd still be friends."

Harry colored from the roots of his untidy black hair down to his red-and-gold striped socks.

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Snape could scarcely believe his eyes.

All eight of his advanced lecture students were quietly working together on their potions. No voices were raised, no one was missing any hair or major body parts, and no wands were held violently at any throats.

Part of it could have been the potion. After Draco's altercation last Friday, he predicted wild tempers between the boy and his red-headed young assistant; as such, he had the students making an advanced calming compound with essences of lavender and chamomile. It was a potion used often during the goblin rebellions to help wizards fight off shock while having limbs amputated. When being brewed, the vapors of the potion gave a contented, peaceful feeling to all who inhaled them.

He expected quiet obedience and civility. Instead, his students were positively _tranquil_.

He smiled. That in itself was a small miracle and testament to the potion's powerful properties.

He looked over to where Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley were working together. Given the events of the previous week, he had expected them to be at each others' throats; but even they seemed to have come to some sort of mutual treaty, or at least they were putting up a pretense of peace just for his class. Draco was calmly giving directions while Ginny silently added ingredients and stirred the cauldron.

Snape cleared his throat half-regretfully, not wanting to ruin what was surely the only moment of serenity he would ever have in his career as potions professor.

"Once you've finished adding your final ingredients, stopper and label your potion. It needs to sit for two weeks before it can be finished."

"As I'm sure you're well-aware," he continued, "next Thursday is Halloween. As usual, Hogwarts will hold its Halloween feast. Much against my protestations, the headmaster has requested that I refrain from holding lectures that evening," this he said with a sour face. "Therefore I am instructing you not to come to class next week," he glared at them all, "because apparently merrymaking is more important than academic instruction."

Mandy Brocklehurst let out a soft giggle. Snape glared at her, but was feeling charitable enough not to take away points from Ravenclaw. Surely it was another one of the effects of the potion.

"You are dismissed as soon as you clean up."

Snape wandered back toward his desk and sat down. He held his chin in his left hand and his eyes glossed over, lost in thought. Katie Bell looked at him incredulously, then caught Ginny's eye and shook her head in amusement. Ginny responded with a grin before she turned back to the task at hand.

She looked down at her watch. "Damn," she said softly. "I was hoping to get some time in at the library before curfew."

"So what's stopping you?" Draco asked archly, as he packed away his potions kit.

Ginny gave him a look. "Some of us have to be back in our dorms by nine, Mr. Prefect." She shook her head and scowled. "I can't believe they gave it to _Leonie_, of all people."

Draco sighed dramatically. "Oh, Weasley, you could just _ask_, you know."

She looked at him sideways as she used a funnel to carefully pour their potion into a beaker for storage. The mint green liquid bubbled like carbonated water. "Ask what?"

Draco looked at her like she was daft. "I'm Mr. Prefect. I have privilege."

Ginny stared at him, unimpressed. "And… your point is…what?"

Draco sneered. "I can get you in, that's what. Sixth and seventh year prefects can give special library extensions to fifth year students if they need to study for their OWLs." He took the full beaker of their potion out of Ginny's hands and gracefully wrote his and her names on the label. Ginny noticed with no surprise that he wrote his first and largest. "But," he added, "the prefect must be present at all times, to ensure students aren't just snogging or mucking about."

She looked at him incredulously. "How come Ron and Hermione have never said anything about that?" she asked irately. "And they've been prefects all this time!"

"Probably because your brother would never voluntarily go to the library, and little Miss Mudblood would see it as a waste of time to help anyone other than herself excel."

"Draco, could you please not refer to her as 'mudblood?' I realize you're programmed for bigotry, but could you at least not do that in front of me?"

Draco turned his face toward Ginny and smirked. "Did you just call me 'Draco?'"

Ginny blushed furiously and looked away. "Cut it out, Malfoy! Are we going to the library or not?" She started slamming ingredients into her bag and in her haste dropped her heavy stone pestle right next to Draco's foot.

"Easy, Weasley!" said Draco, his eyes dancing with delight when he saw how angry her face got when he invoked her new nickname. "You take my toes off and we're not going anywhere! Besides," he added haughtily, "you didn't say 'please.'"

Ginny knelt down to get her pestle at the same time as Draco. He picked it up first. His slate-colored eyes met hers. They stayed, for just a second, with their eyes locked on each other.

"Please," said Ginny softly, not taking her gaze away. She was surprised to find her heart jumping wildly. Draco handed her the pestle.

"Okay."

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_Draco Lucius Malfoy, he thought viciously, what the hell do you think you're doing?_

It had to have been the potion vapors. That's what he was telling himself as he sat in the library at 10:45 on a Thursday night, pretending to read but actually just surreptitiously watching Ginny Weasley as she chewed on the end of her short, raggedy quill ("_Ugh, why don't you throw that ghastly thing away?" _he had asked her the night before, when they had ran into each other in the library for the second time_. "It's my favorite," _she'd responded, shrugging, "_had it since first year."_). Strands of her hair had worked their way out of her ponytail and were falling in her eyes. She must have been tired; there were dark circles under them, and every so often her eyelids would flutter in the manner of one trying not to fall asleep.

If someone had told him at the beginning of the school year that he would be not only be talking to but developing some sort of… _infatuation_… with Ginny Weasley, he would have accused them of dipping into Madam Rosmerta's mulled mead a season too early. Still, here he was, sitting across the table from the girl in the muted glow of the library lamps and wondering what exactly it was that made her so damn interesting.

It couldn't be her looks. Draco had known more than his fair share of pretty girls and certainly didn't have a problem finding a date for any Hogsmeade weekends or quidditch after parties. They made good trophies to help compliment his own impeccable style, but they weren't exactly the most fascinating people to be around. Funny that Draco hadn't seemed to mind until recently.

There was something about her. Something about the way she drew her small body up to her full height and positively quivered with anger when she fought with him, her eyes blazing gold and defiant. She'd never been afraid of him, didn't squeak in terror and run away like the younger girls, and she didn't smile and flutter her eyes at him from across the Great Hall like so many others. She didn't flatter him or slyly graze her hand across his while reaching for something next to him at the table and didn't try to curry favor because his father had so many connections in the ministry and other _less reputable_ areas of the wizarding world.

In fact, she'd done the complete opposite. She'd broken his nose and left him bruised and covered in blood, legs locked together half a league away from his wand, and then sauntered away like she hadn't a care in the world.

Draco couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why he found that so damn sexy.

Now, though, her head had bent down and was pillowed against the pages of a yellowing manuscript entitled _A Hundred Hexes for Hapless Harpies_. She'd finally given in to sleep, and instead of shaking her awake and berating her for wasting his time, he simply watched her quietly. He could see an artery in her neck pulsating with each push of blood from her heart. Her lips twitched with unrealized words.

He turned back to the task at hand. He hadn't been lying, two days before, when she'd run into him in almost the exact same place as they were now. Over the course of the last week he'd been stealing away for thirty minutes at a time, checking into texts he'd come across during his own curious intrigues into the dark arts. He'd looked in scores of books but found no hexes or curses that would cause a reaction with her heart quite like what he'd witnessed when she'd taken the potion.

The hours he spent with her in the library the previous two nights passed quite pleasantly. Not that he would ever dare to admit it, of course, and he fervently hoped no one had spotted them together, but when it came time for them to retreat to their respective common rooms he felt the smallest tinge of regret. He hadn't mentioned his prefect privileges then because he thought it best not to spend so much time with her. He had also wanted to end the encounters before they became complete disasters, if only to ensure her cooperation in Snape's class the following evening, but that was beside the point, surely.

Ginny made a low moan in the back of her throat. Draco jumped, startled, and stared at her. Her fingers twitched, and she unconsciously grasped at the table. Her pupils fluttered madly underneath her eyelids, and she gasped sharply. She was unusually pale beneath the smattering of freckles that dotted her cheekbones, and a sickly sheen of sweat had spread itself across her forehead.

He reached out for her hand. Two things crossed his mind: one, that this was the first time _he _had ever touched _her_ (_You think she'd let me get close enough to touch her?_, his own words to Snape echoed in his head), and two, that she was ice cold, far colder than any person should be.

Draco shook her hand. "Weasley?" he asked softly. She cried out and pulled her hand away from him. "Weasley?" he said louder, as tears began to work their way out from her eyes. He pushed back from the table and stood up swiftly; his chair fell with a heavy clatter to the floor. Putting both his hands on her shoulders, he shook her, hard. "WEASLEY!" he shouted.

She awoke with a cry and fell to the floor. Her eyes were frightened and rolled wildly about their sockets. "Don't touch me!" she screamed. "Get away from me!" She threw her arms in front of her body as if to shield herself.

"Quiet Weasley! You want to send Madam Pince swooping down on us?" Draco reprimanded her sharply, trying not to show how unnerved she was making him. Her breath was coming in quick, deep gasps, her chest heaving and her whole body shaking. Tears were still pouring down her cheeks, but she didn't seem to notice.

The winter after Draco turned ten, his father had taken him into the woods to "make a man of him." Lucius was an accomplished hunter; he said it was because he could cause death swiftly and without mercy. Narcissa had protested the outing, but Lucius was determined to inspire the same instincts in his son. Draco had trained all the previous year with bow and knife, and he knew what to do in theory, although it would be his first time in practice.

They spent a long morning tracking a deer and her fawn across the frozen ground in the woods that framed Malfoy Manor. At noon, they finally traced them to a small copse of trees next to a large frozen pond. Lucius took out the mother with a single arrow. The fawn, frightened and not knowing what to do, bolted out onto the pond's surface. It skidded on the ice and fell, kicking out its legs pathetically in an attempt to stand back up.

"Shoot," said Lucius coldly. Draco, trembling, nocked and released an arrow. It drove itself into the fawn's side. The fawn started bleating loudly and pitifully as hot blood spilled onto the ice. Its back hooves clicked uselessly against the surface of the pond.

"End it," said his father. "Like I showed you."

Terrified that the ice would be too thin, Draco lightly stepped onto the surface of the pond. He slowly made his way to where the dying animal lay. The fawn looked up at him pleadingly with huge round eyes filled with betrayal. Draco stared back at it, his stomach twisting in painful knots. He fought to keep down his breakfast.

Do it!" commanded Lucius from the shore.

Draco knelt down next to the animal and cupped its head in his lap. Then, hands shaking, he withdrew his knife and sliced open the fawn's throat.

That's what Ginny reminded him of as she sat on the floor of the library, cowering underneath him, her face streaked with tears. He knelt down next to her slowly but didn't touch her.

"Weasley?" he asked softly.

She continued to tremble but didn't say anything. He took the fact that she wasn't screaming at him anymore as a good sign. He reached out and gently lowered her arms away from her face. She looked at him with round, frightened eyes, just like the fawn did.

"Oh, oh god," she said quickly. Her face was still pale. "Fuck, Malfoy, I'm sorry, I can't believe I feel asleep, Christ." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm so embarrassed. Sorry. Sometimes..." she faltered. "Sometimes I have… nightmares."

Draco looked at her incredulously. "That's putting it mildly."

She looked down at her arm where he was still holding it. Draco, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed, jerked his hand away. Ginny's face was drawn and worn, and her eyes looked a thousand years older than they should have.

He thought back to the other week, when he had watched Ginny take the potion, and remembered the look on her face when she realized her chest was glowing. No shock, no surprise, just a resigned weariness. Something clicked.

"You know what's going on." It wasn't a question.

Ginny pressed her lips firmly together, reducing her mouth to a single tense line. Draco narrowed his eyes.

"If you weren't going to tell me, why did you bother letting me get involved in this at all?" he asked darkly. "What are you using me for, Weasley?"

"I'm not using you for anything!" she said, her voice still thick with emotion.

"Of course you are," retorted Draco. "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me." He straightened up. "I don't see why I should bother to help you if you refuse to be honest with me."

Her face became a mask of indifference. "You said yourself you weren't trying to help me, Malfoy," she said baldly. "And what have you done to make me think I could trust you?"

Draco fumed. "Fine," he snapped. "You think you can handle this all on your own? Then fucking handle it. But don't come crying to me when you find yourself so deep in dark magic you can't crawl back out."

His face was twisted thick with anger. He gathered his books and papers and shoved them roughly in his bag. Then, leaving her still sprawled on the floor, he stomped into the stacks and out of sight.

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A/N: Thank you for the reviews, thank you for adding _The Widening Gyre _to your story alerts, and thank you for your patience. Thanks to all of those who've review so far (ShimmeringFumes, lilabennet, Aerileigh, Eruanna Saerwen, Eryk Lestrange, SometimeSelkie, Nutmeg44, foxgodess04, godgirlgonebad, BekaRoo, veronica21, TheSecretAdmirer, ilovejessssss, SilverEyedAngel19, Crystal Moon Magic, Trinideanfan, PixieDust319, Jawsome, DamnDraco, and brianangel).

I hope this long(ish) chapter will hold you over until the next update; the next month and a half may be a bit busy for me. Rest assured, though, that the next two chapters or so already have drafts written. Happy new year :)


	8. Retineo dictum cello

_The Widening Gyre, Part 8: Retineo dictum cello_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J. K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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_o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o _

_She was sitting on the floor of the Chamber, crossed-legged and hunched over. Her eyes were closed and her face was in her hands. _

"_Ginevra, look at me." Tom's boyish voice commanded. He towered over her. She shook her head, face still covered. _

_He knelt down and put his face on level with hers. He reached out with his cold hands and carefully pried her fingers away from her face. "No!" She screamed, protesting. _

"_Ginevra, look at me," he repeated. After freeing her fingers he had seized her wrists, and he held her hands out away from her body. She kept her eyes shut and jerked her head around wildly, refusing to look at him. _

"_GINEVRA." His voice cracked with dark magic. Her eyes snapped open of their own accord and her head whipped around to face him, straining the muscles in her neck. She cried out in pain. His dark eyes bore into hers. Terrible, frightening images twisted their way in her mind. _

_Harry, she saw Harry. His green eyes looked up trustingly at her, and he smiled. Then, his expression changed to one of confusion and fear. She saw pale thin hands, her hands, working their way toward him and around his throat. His face turned blue and purple, and he clawed at her wrists, but she was impossibly strong and he couldn't stop her. His eyes bulged out of his head and his tongue protruded out from between his lips._

"_Stop! Tom, please, stop!" she begged, and for an instant she thought he had relented, until more images filled her mind. The bodies of her brothers and her parents lie all around her, covered in blood. She looked down at her body and saw that she was covered in blood too, and her hands gripped her wand tightly. She panicked and threw it away. Then one of the corpses, Ron's, turned and opened its eyes accusingly. 'Why would you do it, Ginny?' he asked, a long millipede crawling out of his mouth as it moved. She heard her own voice, expressionless as steel. "Blood-traitors."_

"_Tom! Please, I'll do anything, anything!" she pleaded, her voice racked with sobs. The bodies of her family disappeared, and she regained her true sight. Tom was still standing in front of her._

"_Anything?" he asked. He moved closer to her. "Do you love me, Ginevra?" he asked softly._

"_Y-yes!" Her voice was ragged. "Yes, Tom, I love you." The words ripped out of her like a knife ripping its way out of a freshly-made wound, leaving her feeling raw and broken. _

_His face inched closer to hers. "Then you will do anything I say?"_

"_Yes," she cried, quietly now. She had stopped struggling, exhausted. "Yes, Tom, I will." _

_He smiled coldly and released one of her arms. Out of his pocket he drew a small flat disc of black stone. He kissed it, and then pressed it flat against her chest. She gasped as a piercing pain shot through her heart. _

"_Good," he murmured, as his frozen lips came crashing down on her own._

And the next thing she had known, she was on the floor of the library, and the boy leaning over her had grey eyes and not inky black ones, and his hair was blonde, not brown.

He looked, to Ginny's surprise, genuinely concerned. His hand on her arm stung the way one's feet do after walking out in the snow and coming home to a warm kitchen. And as he looked at her, she could see the wheels turning in his mind, and his eyes closed off like the heavy thud of a cover slammed down on the contents of a book.

"You know what's going on."

And it had all gone downhill from there.

After he left her in the library, Ginny threw all her things together and retreated back to the sanctuary of her four-poster. Unlike the week before, she wasn't greeted by a furious Ron and a snoozing Harry. The common room was empty and dark, save for the soft glow of a dying fire. She felt oddly empty; the last week had left her devoid of all capacity for emotion. It was all she could do to drag her body into bed and take a swig of Sleepless Spirits. She'd already had one nightmare that evening, so she couldn't trust herself not to have another. She spent the night shaking and trying to erase the memory of her family's corpses from her mind.

As was wont to happen in these circumstances, she ran into Malfoy everywhere. She swore she passed him between each and every one of her classes, stalking arrogantly through the halls with Crabbe and Goyle at his elbows. Not once did he turn to look at her or even appear to notice her at all.

Ginny missed having him around. Like him or not, Malfoy was the only person who spoke to her about something other than their supposed relationship; with him gone, conversation of any kind had been quite scarce, and the few that she had always ended in her storming away angrily after being asked, once again, _just how big was it?_

_And he's kind of funny, _she admitted begrudgingly to herself, _even if he is a complete pain in the ass._

She had made no progress in her research. Instead of delivering her some clarity, the nightmare in the library had only handed Ginny yet another mystery to solve: just _what_ was the small stone Tom had put inside her? After getting out of the shower the morning after, Ginny had looked at herself in the mirror and gasped. In the center of her chest was a small, perfectly round burn, right where Tom had touched her. She fingered it gingerly, but it didn't hurt. She didn't know if that made her feel better or worse.

It was Thursday yet again. _My life_, she thought dryly, _consists only of Thursdays_. Most likely every other person in the castle had headed out to the Halloween Feast. Well, everyone except Madam Pince, who Ginny was fairly well sure wouldn't leave her precious books if the library were set on fire by a Hungarian Horntail.

This time her studies had extended into the realm of magical object manipulation. She'd found nothing of note and was afraid she'd have to look into transfigured objects next. If Tom had slipped her a transfigured object, there'd be no telling what it was or what it could do. She closed the cover on yet another useless book and sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Her stomach growled. She was hungry, and her mouth watered at the thought of all the delectable treats the house elves had prepared for the feast, but she wasn't exactly in celebratory spirits, and walking in the middle of the feast with the whole school assembled would surely draw much more attention than she desired. No, it looked like it'd be another dinner of squashed pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs unearthed from the bottom of her trunk.

She inhaled deeply, and she swore she could smell spiced pumpkin and melting butter.

"Ginny?"

"Shit!" she blurted out, startled. Turning, she saw Harry emerge from seemingly thin air, a smile on his face. He draped the invisibility clock over his shoulder, which gave Ginny the disconcerting notion that he was missing his right arm.

"Hello to you ,too," he said kindly.

"How long have you been there? Aren't you hungry? Didn't you go to the feast?" Her questions came out rapid-fire.

Harry held up a hand. "Slow down there, Mad-Eye," he said jokingly. Ginny smiled a little, despite herself. "I just got here. I wasn't spying on you, promise." He gestured at the table. "May I?" he asked.

"What? Oh, sure," said Ginny, picking up books and shoving aside her research. She slammed a few texts down on her parchment, obscuring her notes from view. She cleared off just enough room on the table for Harry. "So, what are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "You weren't at the feast. I figured I'd split early and see what you were up to."

"Ron didn't notice you go?" Ginny asked significantly.

Harry shrugged. "He was too busy fighting with Hermione about our potions essay," he said nonchalantly. "He won't notice anything. Besides," he looked at her shyly, "I was really looking forward to seeing you. You've been avoiding everyone all week." He bit his lip in the same adorably nervous way he always did when he talked to her lately.

Ginny blushed and felt her stomach slide sideways. "I've been… busy," she said lamely.

Harry eyed the stacks of books on the table. "I can see that. Are you at a good breaking point?"

She smiled. "I could be."

Harry grinned. "Good," he said. "I brought you something." Before Ginny could express her surprise, Harry pulled out a small parcel. "I thought you might be hungry, so after I left the feast I popped by the kitchens and asked Dobby to wrap something up for me." His eyes danced mischievously. "I had to wear the cloak so Madam Pince wouldn't pounce on me for sneaking food into the library." He handed the parcel over.

Ginny opened it to reveal several neatly packed turkey sandwiches, hot rolls, and a piece of pumpkin pie. Tucked in the bottom was a small flask of pumpkin juice wrapped in a yellow napkin. She looked back up at Harry. His eyes were very soft as he smiled.

"This is… this is for me?" she asked, pleased but a little confused. She was struggling not to accidently read anything into the situation that might not actually be there.

"Well, yeah," he shrugged. "I mean, you know, it was no big deal, and I thought you might be hungry, so… yeah…" he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, blushing just a little bit.

Ginny's heart gave a nominal little flutter. She opened her mouth to thank him.

"Well isn't this _touching_?" A contemptuous voice cut through the library, making both Harry and Ginny jump. The voice was dripping with coldness and disdain.

Around the corner stepped Draco Malfoy. He leaned against a bookshelf and crossed his arms lazily. The sleeves of his elegant dark gray sweater were pushed up a little bit, showing his forearms, and his tie was loose, admitting just a hint of collarbone. Something glinted at his tousled cuffs. He arched his left eyebrow at the two students sitting at the table.

Harry's demeanor changed instantly from one of tenderness to suspicion and hostility. Ginny saw his shoulders tense. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I want to vomit, after watching that little display," replied Draco. "Really, Potter, picnic in the library? No wonder Cho tossed you aside like last year's broomstick. What a plebeian sense of romance!"

"Sod off, Malfoy!" replied Harry, his green eyes flashing angrily. "No one invited you."

"Ha!" scoffed Draco. "As if I need an invitation. It's the library, Potter, I've every right to be here, and," he eyed the parcel of Halloween leftovers, "how fortunate for Hogwarts that I'm able to exercise my duty as a prefect and ensure our dear school's rules are being upheld. Ten points from Gryffindor. Students are not permitted to bring food into the library."

"You can't do that," said Ginny, speaking for the first time since Draco appeared. She noticed with some irritation that both boys jumped and seemed to suddenly remember she was there. "You're a sixth year. You can only take up to 5 points from a student of a different house at a time."

"Yes," said Draco smoothly, "but there are two of you committing this atrocious violation of clearly-posted school rules. Five points each." He shook his head as if he'd just suffered a great disappointment. "And here I was starting to think you were smart, Weasley."

"She's smarter than you, you pompous prick!" Harry practically growled. Ginny looked at him in surprise. He was bristling with gallant indignation.

"Leave chivalry to those who can do it with class," sneered Draco. "You look ridiculous."

Harry stood up abruptly from the library table. His hands were clenched into tight fists. "Ginny," he said, not looking at her, "let's go."

Ginny was behind him completely until he uttered those words. "Excuse me?" she asked automatically, annoyed that he suddenly deemed himself capable of telling her what to do.

"Let's get out of here," Harry repeated. "Since _some people_ obviously don't respect others _right to privacy_."

"No," said Ginny, furrowing her brows. "No, I've got to finish my work. But _you_ can go, if you want to."

Harry turned to look at her. Disbelief and disappointment mingled in his eyes. Ginny felt a momentary pang of guilt, but stuck to her decision. She'd had enough of people telling her how her life should be run, and she found she wasn't so desperate for Harry's attentions that she would allow herself to be directed like a child.

Harry's face grew firm and taught. "Fine," he said. "Fine. I'll go." He picked his bag up off the floor. "Enjoy your dinner," he said, his voice carefully contained. He pushed roughly past Draco, hitting the blonde boy with his shoulder.

"Temper, temper!" Draco sarcastically called at Harry's retreating back. Harry didn't pause as he flipped Malfoy the finger. Draco laughed. He was still smiling meanly when he looked back at Ginny. She was glaring at him. His smile didn't waver.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Interrupting Potter's pathetic attempts to woo you, apparently," Draco smirked. "You're not going to run after him? Though I suppose you must still be in shock; suddenly getting attention after being ignored for five years must really knock a girl off her balance."

Ginny's face flushed hotly. "Fuck you," she spat back at him.

"Has it really been a full week since you swore at me?" asked Draco genially. Once that remark had stung him; now, however, he knew the minx a little more, and as such let the surface-hostility of her verbal barbs bounce off of him. He sank into the chair across from the one which Harry had just vacated and pointed at the parcel. "Are you going to eat those?" He responded to Ginny's glare with a laugh and helped himself to a sandwich.

"You're shameless, you know that?" she snapped. He simply winked as he bit into the bread. "You didn't eat at the feast?" she asked through clenched teeth, trying to control her temper. She knew better than to expect Draco would go away just because she wanted him to.

"I left early," he said through a bite of sandwich. He swallowed. "Obviously."

"Why?"

He made a flippant gesture with his right hand. "Oh, you know, everyone kept nattering away about something inconsequential, Crabbe and Goyle were swapping toilet jokes and Blaise was valiantly convincing Pansy to let him put his candle in her jack-o-lantern." Ginny made a disgusted face. Draco nodded. "My opinion exactly. A vulgar state of affairs in Slytherin house, isn't it?"

"No less than what I would expect," replied Ginny archly as she took one of the hot rolls Harry had brought her. She halved it carefully along the split and slurped at the melted butter which was pooled there.

"Weasley, you're a slob."

"Yes," she said daintily, "but I'm not the one with mustard dripping on my sweater."

Draco cursed and grabbed the little yellow napkin from the parcel. He dabbed his sweater carefully. "Puffskein and cashmere," he groaned, dismayed. "Fifty galleons, my favorite."

"Oh for Merlin's sake," said Ginny exasperated. She picked up her wand and flicked it at him. "_Scourgify_." The mustard disappeared, and Draco found himself wiping away at nothing. "You're a wizard, yes?" she asked sarcastically, "I figured you'd remember. Perhaps all that inbreeding is affecting your capacity for rational thought…"

"Must be," replied Draco frostily, "seeing the company I've been keeping lately."

"Well, lucky for you that you've the power to make all that change, eh?" she said angrily, pointing in the direction of the library doors. "You've made it perfectly clear that you don't want anything to do with me, so why don't you just go?"

"Malfoys," Draco said pointedly, "act of their own volition and certainly don't take orders from inconsequential red-heads."

"Is that in the official Malfoy family handbook?" asked Ginny nastily.

"Page 107, right after the section on how to properly disembowel disobedient house-elves."

"Ugh," Ginny's stomach recoiled, and she shuddered in disgust. "You're revolting."

"Thank you, Weasley," he said, taking one of her dinner rolls. "Have you gotten any further in this little mystery of yours?"

She eyed him warily. "Thought you didn't want anything to do with that?"

"I've thought about it," Draco said lightly, "and the truth is, Weasley, you don't have any clue what you're doing. It would be an insult to my honor as a Prefect to allow you to besmirch Hogwart's halls with the effects of whatever this is you're under."

Ginny snorted in disbelief. "How about the real reason, then?"

Draco's aristocratic features morphed into an expression of irritation and impatience. "I'm bored, and Daphne Greengrass kept throwing me coquettish glances over dinner. I didn't want her to think she had a chance at the family jewels; I heard she has the Clap."

"You still haven't done anything to make me think I can trust you," Ginny said slowly, mentally filing away that little fun fact about Daphne. Part of her wanted to be back on good terms with Draco, but that part didn't have much evidence to counteract fifteen years of family-taught hatred and suspicion.

"I didn't blab about your little light show, did I?"

Ginny pressed her lips into a firm line. He _did_ have a point about that.

"Fine," she said sharply. "Fine. But if you piss me off one more time, it's done. Over. And you're not to speak a word of this to anyone. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Draco grabbed another sandwich. "Now why don't you tell me about these nightmares you've been having?"

Ginny sighed resignedly and nibbled nervously on the end of her ancient quill, then launched into a story.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

Draco'd meant to stay angry at her until the sun burnt out or a meteor crashed into the earth, thereby ending all life on it. Sure, he may have done some not-so-nice things in the past, and his family had been suspected of _dark activities_, and maybe he did shave all her hair off her head and call her a chit… but still. What had he personally done to make her doubt his trust? He'd kept his mouth shut about that damn curse, hadn't he?

He wasn't about to let her see how her derision had affected him. He ignored her when they passed in the corridor, and he refused to look at her, but she hadn't seemed to perceive it. How dare she take no notice of his obvious disregard for her? So, seeing she wasn't at the feast, he assumed she was hiding in the library, and he set out to find her and berate her for her behavior.

But when he'd walked in and heard her talking with Potter, heard that dangerous tone of affection in Potter's voice and saw that she was obviously falling for his deplorable lack of charm, he found himself getting angrier and angrier, until he had to step in and put a stop to such madness. He was glad he did, too; not that he cared about her, but the whole school thought she was the property of Draco Malfoy, and it wouldn't be good for his reputation if people said Harry Potter had managed to steal Draco's girl right from under his nose.

No, it wouldn't do at all.

What a better way to turn Weasley off of Potter and onto himself than by discrediting the other boy and making him look like a fool in front of her? And she had reacted charmingly, had refused to go with Potter and instead stayed here, with Draco, just the two of them, eating Potter's sandwiches. He was thrilled.

And then he convinced her to tell her story, and his arrogant grin was wiped clean off his face.

"Why do you look so surprised?" she asked suddenly. "This whole thing started because of your father. He didn't tell you about the diary?" She took a swig from the flask of pumpkin juice; it was the only thing besides the pie remaining from Potter's picnic parcel. She then passed it to Draco, who took a drink.

"I knew he had given you the diary, afterwards," said Draco slowly, "but I had no idea what was actually inside it. I knew who it came from, originally, but… _damn_, Weasley!"

Ginny looked pensive. "And you didn't know the truth about the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Of course not. No one does. You think the headmaster lets that sort of gossip get out in the open?" Draco shook his head. "No, he may be a crazy old coot, but he's not stupid. If the school governors had found out that Dumbledore'd let the heir of Slytherin continue attending Hogwarts, they would have made it public and tried to have it sacked. It's exactly," Draco smiled wryly, "the sort of thing my father was trying to do with yours."

Ginny looked at him suspiciously. He just shrugged.

"Well, it's true, isn't it? You think it was chance that handed that book to you? My father was hoping to shame yours out of the Ministry."

"And what did you think about that?" She asked the question carefully, but Draco noticed the tips of her ears flushing red, like her brother's often did in potions class.

"Honestly, at the time I was all for it. But—" he stuck his hand out to stop Ginny, who was opening her mouth indignantly, "I was quite the spoiled little prat back then, wasn't I?"

Ginny pursed him lips before she began again. "And what about now?"

Draco looked at her evenly. "Now, things are different."

Ginny stared at him, hard. "What's different?" she asked fiercely.

He gave her a look of disgust. "Really, Weasley, do you have to ask? Look at me! Look at where I am, who I'm talking to!" He waved his hands around. "If I was at all like I was when I was twelve, I'd be here with you, trying to solve your problem?"

"It's _my_ problem." Her brown eyes burned into his cold grey ones. "Why should you care?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

_Stupid prat. Look at who he's talking to, indeed. If it's such an imposition, why doesn't he just bugger off?_

"It's _my_ problem." Ginny heard herself saying. She glared at him fiercely, searching his eyes for signs of malice or betrayal. "Why should you care?"

"Maybe I didn't state that correctly," Draco snapped bitterly. "It's not your problem. Do you think, when it comes down to it, this is all really about you?" He stood up suddenly and looked around, making sure no one else was in the library. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "That the Dark Lord would go through all this trouble just to give you, Ginny Weasley, meaningless nightmares and tears and a private little heartache? That this isn't much, much bigger than that?"

His hands were braced flat on the table supporting his torso as he leaned across it and stared her down. Strands of his blonde hair fell loosely across his forehead, and he smelled like cinnamon and smoke and a heady, distinctly boyish smell that made Ginny think of Quidditch and long summers spend lounging in the sun. His expression was vicious, and his eyes were shining like tiny stars in the dim light of the library. Ginny could see his pulse hammering in the veins that trailed down into the collar of his shirt. She felt like a deer trapped in the sight of a hunter.

"How arrogant do you think I am, Malfoy?" she asked, trying to joke but quaking under the intensity of his gaze.

He narrowed his eyes, not amused in the least.

"Some of us have more to think about than ourselves." He responded coldly, still not backing down from his aggressive stance.

She returned his glare, her fear turning to anger at his allegations. She was positively quivering with it. "And what about you, then? This isn't part of the plan? Help return You-Know-Who to the height of his power, then sit back as he purges all those 'unworthies' from the world and reap the glories of the scraps of wealth and privilege he throws at your family?"

Draco's face turned white with rage, and those two now-familiar spots of color washed across his cheekbones. "You don't know anything about me."

"Oh, forgive me if I allow your past actions to speak for your character," she said sarcastically. "Why don't you fill me in on your great plans, then?"

Draco stiffened; then, through clenched teeth, he said "_Retineo dictum cello_."

"What?" asked Ginny, surprised and not sure if she had heard him correctly.

He glared at her again. "_Retineo dictum cello_. It's the only way I'll tell you anything."

She thought it over for a minute. _Retineo dictum cello_ was described in the _Encyclopaedia of Dark Spells_ as a charm to ensure the secrecy of information transmitted from one individual to another. It was more commonly referred to as the Secret Curse and was classified not quite as dark magic, but as a sort of fuzzy grey magic, given that if one of the parties involved in the casting ever revealed the information without the curse being lifted, he or she would find their tongue burned out of their mouth. Not a very pleasant prospect, to say the least. Ginny had come across it during her hours of library research. As the book was available to students for research purposes only, instructions on how to cast the spell were not included. She guessed Draco'd learned it from his father.

It was dangerous, to be sure. But without Draco's valuable insight into the dark arts, she'd probably be dead from her own curse by the summer. Plus she'd be lying through her teeth if she said she wasn't at least a little curious.

She nodded. "Okay. Fine. What do we need to do?"

Draco straightened out and grabbed the chair he had been sitting in. He placed it right next to hers and sat in it sideways. "Give me your magic-dominant hand," he said calmly. She held her left hand out to him, and he took it in his own hand, much more gently than Ginny would have anticipated, and held her palm flat against his forehead. "Keep it there," he said. He put his right hand, his skin worn rough from the many hours he spent practicing Quidditch, flat against her forehead. "Now, hold your wand in your other hand, and press the tip of it against mine."

Ginny did as he instructed. "Like this?" she asked, carefully balancing her wand against his.

"Yeah, like that," he murmured absently. His eyes roved around, checking the placement of their hands and wands. "All right," he said quietly. "This might… well, it shouldn't hurt, but it might feel sort of… strange."

Ginny's apprehension grew, but she merely said "Okay."

Draco closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and whispered "_Retineo dictum cello nitesco_."

It was as if Ginny had been standing in a reservoir and someone had just opened the floodgates. She was lost in a tumbling river of Draco's fragmented thoughts. The visions lacked the order and narrative given to memories by a pensieve and instead read like the disjointed pieces of a fever dream. She saw a much younger Draco, not older than ten, looking regretfully down at the corpse of a bloodstained deer; she heard raised voices and saw Lucius and Narcissus Malfoy arguing and Lucius pushing Narcissa roughly to the floor before turning and slamming shut a heavy door; she saw Lucius kneeling and grabbing the throbbing mark at his exposed forearm, and then watched as he bent over and vomited on an expensive looking Persian rug; there was a blurred image of her running off the train last year and into the arms of her eldest brother Bill shown simultaneously with an image of a lock of scarlet hair on an elegant white handkerchief; and, finally and to her immense horror, she saw the Dark Lord from a high vantage point, his body ghostly white and thin as a caricature, presiding over a long table at a stately but ancient-looking manor home, a fat beady-eyed little man with a gleaming silver hand on his left, and none other than Professor Snape on his right. Lucius and Narcissa sat further down the table, both with tight, drawn faces and dark circles under their eyes. A body wearing muggle clothes lay on the table, rigid except for its eyes, which darted madly back and forth. A giant snake slithered the length of the table towards it.

And it wasn't just that she could see things. She could feel things. She could feel every emotion going through the person who acted as the lens of these visions; she felt horror, and nausea, and jealousy, and the cold steely breath of fear, and underneath it all a sharp pain she finally identified as intense but anxious and conflicted love for his parents.

And then, suddenly, she felt something bubble to the surface inside of her. She felt love and sympathy and regret, and she saw her own memories being drug to the surface of her consciousness, saw the faces of her family as they leaned over her when she woke up after being rescued from the Chamber, the diary with a hole burnt through the center by a basilisk fang, Harry clinging desperately to the body of Cedric Diggory after he was brought back by the portkey at the Triwizard tournament, Tom Riddle grinning and moving his lips toward hers, and finally her fingertips as they gently touched Draco's jaw a few nights earlier.

"_Retineo dictum cello finite_," whispered Draco. Ginny was jolted violently back to reality. Semi-transparent wisps of the spell's aftereffects remained floating in the air. They draped themselves around Ginny and Draco's necks like strange ethereal scarves and then slowly vanished.

The two students lowered their hands and wands. Ginny looked down at her hands and saw they were shaking. Her head was buzzing with adrenaline, and it ached like a hangover. "You're quite the legilimens," she whispered.

She looked over to Draco. The head he held in his hand was pale and the eyes still closed; his breathing steadied, and after a few moments he said "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to see yours. That's never happened before."

He sat back up and reached into his left breast pocket. He withdrew a flask (sterling silver, an ornate letter M engraved on the body), unscrewed the top, and took a long swig.

"What's that you've got there?" she gestured tiredly toward the flask.

He passed the flask to Ginny. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and to Draco's mild surprise, had a drink.

"It's smooth," she said, "though I imagine I shouldn't expect anything less, not from you." She took another drink and handed the flask back to him. "Vodka?"

"Vladimir's Dragon Label," said Draco absently, putting the flask back in his pocket, "best in eastern Europe. Thirty galleons a bottle."

"You could get a decent broomstick for that much," replied Ginny bitterly.

Draco nodded vaguely, not really registering the comment. "So do you trust me now?" he asked. His voice sounded tired.

Ginny stared at him hard. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Yeah, I trust you." She opened her mouth to say something else, hesitated, and then asked "Draco?"

"Weasley?"

"Was that _Professor Snape_?"

Draco nodded. "I don't think I'm supposed to know. There's a passage in the wall on the second floor of the manor that looks down into the grand dining room. I don't think my parents know about it. I overheard them talking about a meeting and thought I'd do a little personal reconnaissance."

"So he's working for You-Know-Who? Does Dumbledore know?" Ginny frantically demanded..

Draco sighed. "I don't know. The Dark Lord claims he trusts him, but there are things Snape says sometimes that makes me wonder. I've tried, before, to find out, but I've been blocked every time."

"Find out?" Ginny asked. "You mean-?"

Draco lightly tapped his temple with one elegant finger. "My father trained me in leglimency and occlumency since I was six. I can read most people, but Snape's had much more practice. Every time I try to get close he seals himself up like Krum clinging to a Snitch."

"Do people know when you do it?" Ginny tried to keep her voice casual.

Draco smirked hollowly. "If you're asking whether or not I've read your mind before tonight, the answer's 'no.' I don't like to do it a lot. Father says if you do it too much, you start to lose track of which thoughts are your own and which belong to others. Wizards have gone mad that way."

Ginny screwed up her face in thought. "I heard the Dark Lord does it all the time. But he hasn't gone mad, has he?"

Draco scoffed. "You don't call wanting to take over the world mad? I'd say it at least shows a touch of megalomania."

Ginny smiled weakly. "I suppose you have a point there."

"Damn right I have a point." Draco took another drink of vodka.

"Has your father told you anything about the Dark Lord's plans?"

"Hell, no. He just occasionally rambles on about how the Dark Lord will provide us a 'most glorious place in the future world' and other nonsense. He thinks I'm going to sign up as soon as I graduate. But I'm not stupid. I know the Dark Lord is going to mow my family right over as soon as he gets his full powers back, and he won't have a second thought about it."

Ginny snorted. "Your family and the rest of the world."

Draco shrugged. "Listen, I'm not Potter. I can't go dashing about fighting dragons and saving the world and have everybody clap and throw roses at my feet. Frankly, I don't want that sort of attention. I just have my own small but very important world, and I want to protect that."

Ginny smiled. "Well, at least you have some standards."

"That's right, Draco Malfoy, just a regular albeit incredibly handsome and charismatic guy." He smirked at Ginny. "I'm basically the everyman's hero, eh?"

Ginny made a gagging noise in her throat.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Elegant, Weasley. Elegant."

She sobered. "What will you do if something happens before graduation?"

"Hah," Draco laughed darkly. "That's the kicker. If I outright deny the mark, I've no doubt I'll be tortured. He might even do it to my family, too. He wouldn't kill us, though; purebloods are a dying breed, and anyone who has it basically has gold pumping through their veins. But I'm not about to get that… _thing_… slapped on my arm for the rest of my life."

"How… how bad would it be?" asked Ginny tentatively. Then, realizing how that sounded, she added "I mean, being a Death Eater, that's bad," she said, "but the mark itself? What would happen to you?"

Draco sighed and frowned. "Father doesn't really talk about it. I only know what I've seen. It's like a conduit, a live connection to the Dark Lord. All Him, all the time. You're always linked, and he can read your mind or summon you whenever he wants." His voice grew more and more bitter. "He can hurt you, cause it to burn or sting. Sometimes he does it just to make sure everyone is 'paying attention,' so to speak. He can make you sick; I've seen Father vomit and scream, and it'll go on for hours."

Draco's face was sour and drawn. Ginny was surprised to find she had reached a hand out toward his, but she was interrupted in mid-gesture by a voice.

"Ginny? Are you in here?" Ron's voice called from a few stacks away.

Ginny's eyes widened. "Shit!" she said. "We should hide you!" She grabbed Draco's bag and shoved it toward him.

"I don't see why I should have to hide," he protested, taking the bag from her. "I haven't done anything wrong. This time."

"That doesn't matter," Ginny replied. "You think Ron'll care?" She looked around, and then her face lit up as she spied something on the floor. "Yes! Harry left his cloak!"

"What, you're going to hide me under some grotty old cloak like I'm a piece of furniture?" asked Draco disdainfully. "Great idea, Weasley." Ginny held up the shimmering cloak for him to see, and the sarcastic look vanished from his face.

"What? Potter has an invisibility cloak!" he exclaimed. Then, looking angry and pensive, "So that's how he threw that mud at me third year. Stupid ass."

"Don't care. Put it on, get under the table and shut up," said Ginny ruthlessly. She threw the cloak over his head, and he vanished from sight. She heard him grumbling slightly as she watched a chair pull back seemingly of its own accord and then slowly drag itself back into place.

"Oy, there you are," said Ron as he came behind a shelf not a moment too soon. He looked around as if he was expecting someone else to be there.

Ginny regarded him coolly. "What do you want?" she asked, immediately on the offensive. Ron hadn't spoken to her in two weeks. She could only assume he had come to lecture her for some reason.

He altered his tone to be as frosty as hers. "Where's Malfoy?" he demanded, his face flushing red as he said the other boy's name. He took a step back and looked down the row of books behind him.

"He's not here," said Ginny shortly, between clenched teeth. _Harry, you bastard_.

"Yes, he is," said Ron angrily. "Harry told me he came down here to bother you two!"

"Oh, did Harry say that?" asked Ginny sarcastically. "Good think you have such a loyal friend who's willing to tail your poor baby sister for you to make sure she's not up to no good." Ginny sneered. "Makes your life that much easier, does it?"

Ron glared at her. "I didn't send him to tail you," he said. "I didn't send him at all! You think I want my best friend going off after my sister?"

"True," retorted Ginny nastily. "No one else will listen to you prattle on like an ass. Don't need Harry running off on you!"

"Where's Malfoy?" Ron demanded again, angrily. "He was here, I know he was! What are you two doing together? Didn't you listen to me when I told you not to see him anymore?"

"Didn't I listen to you?" Ginny's voice became dangerously low. "No, Ron, I didn't listen to you, because you're an idiot."

Ron's eyes widened in anger. "I'm not an idiot! You're the idiot, hanging about with that prat Malfoy. What's wrong with you? Have you just seemed to block out the fact that he's _basically evil_? Look what he did to me!" He pointed at his face. Draco had given him a black eye during their fight, and a few bruises still lingered on Ron's cheekbone.

"You tackled him, Ron!" said Ginny incredulously. "What, did you expect him to just fall over and say 'uncle'?"

"I'm your brother! You're supposed to be on my side!"

"This isn't about sides," she snapped. "And even if it was, you haven't been on my side in years, Ron, so I don't know why you'd bring it up now!" She glared at him fiercely.

She saw his face fall slightly. "What d'you mean, Gin?" he asked. Some of the malice had drained out of his voice.

"Don't look at me like that," said Ginny, suddenly feeling very tired. "Ever since you left for school, you haven't had time for me. I was possessed by Tom Riddle, for Merlin's sake, and you never even noticed. I haven't slept in about four years, not since then. You didn't come to the hospital wing a few weeks ago when I got cursed in potions. And now you haven't spoken to me in weeks." She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice, riding the last waves of her anger instead. "All because of rumors and your own damn prejudice. So don't you talk to me about who's on whose side, Ronald Weasley. You lost that privilege _ages_ ago."

Ron was speechless. He stared at his sister with his mouth opening and closing slightly like a fish. The flush had left his face. He looked at his sister plaintively. "Gin…" he said. He didn't say anything else.

Ginny furiously blinked back tears. "You can't tell me that any of what I just said isn't true, Ron, so if you don't have anything else to say, why don't you just go?"

Ron was shocked. He wore an incredulous expression, and stared at her, but he couldn't seem to find the words to make a reply. He held his hand out, as if he were going to say something or reach for her, but then he turned and slowly left the library, looking over his shoulder once as he went. Ginny stared at him with crossed arms, her expression firm despite her glittering eyes.

"Holy Hell," said Draco, presumably crawling out from under the table given that the chair was once again moving. He pulled the cloak off of himself. "Damn, Weasley. Pent up issues much?" He stopped talking when he saw her face.

Ginny took a deep breath and brushed an errant tear away. She refused to let any others fall. She held her body stiffly and tried not to look at Draco.

Draco looked at her critically. "You," he said, "need a vacation."

"Right.," said Ginny sarcastically, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Let me pack my bags right now. Where shall I go: Cannes or Majorca?"

"No, really," he said. "You keep this up, and you're going to end up as loopy as Trewlaney. Of course, that's probably all the you-know-what." He made a drinking motion with his hand.

"You're one to talk." she said. "Flask full of Poland's best and all."

"I'm a classy gent. Classy gents always have a little something handy for special occasions," said Draco arrogantly. "Besides, it's the best in _all of eastern Europe_, not just Poland."

Ginny half-laughed. "You are so full of yourself."

"I refuse to rely on others to make me feel like a valid person," said Draco confidently. "Something you'd do well to learn."

"Oh, so now you're telling me how I should be living my life too?" asked Ginny with an aggravated tone.

"I'm telling you," Draco said slowly, as if he were talking to a child, "that you shouldn't listen to anyone other than yourself. You are the one who's going to have to live with the consequences of your actions," he jabbed her on the arm to punctuate the word _you_, "so you might as well stand behind them wholeheartedly."

"Wouldn't that make your device null by default?" she asked. "By listening to you telling me not to listen to anyone else? Why should I listen to you now, then?"

Draco grinned. "Now you're catching on."

Ginny looked at him like he was crazy. "You are _not_ making me feel better," she said.

"You may say that," Draco replied easily, "but you're not crying now, are you?"

Ginny was irritated to find that he was right.

"Good. Now, about that vacation-" he said.

"I don't need a vacation," Ginny interrupted him grumpily. "If I need anything, it's a good night's sleep."

Draco looked at her wryly. "For you, isn't that basically the same thing?"

She pursed her lips and glared at him.

"Right. So, we just need to get you some Dreamless Sleep."

Ginny looked at the boy like he was simple. "Well that's easy, isn't it? Why don't we just stroll on up to the Hospital Wing and say 'Oh, Madam Pomfrey, please, I have no visible injuries or illness, but could you please pass out your highly-addictive medical potion for my recreational use?' Not. Bloody. Likely."

"There are other ways," Draco said, wiggling his eyebrows, "of getting things."

Ginny snorted. "I could break your nose again. That'd get us in there."

Draco narrowed his eyes moodily. "If you're going to be snarky about it then forget it."

"Too late," said Ginny. "After what you showed me tonight? We're in this together now, Malfoy. And, need I remind you, _you_ were the one who initiated this little… whatever this is."

"That curse is no joke," Draco said, pointing at her. "You'd do best to remember that. You've got enough problems without having your tongue burnt out of your skull."

"True."

"So." said Draco, sinking back down into the withdrawn chair. "We need to get in, grab the potion, and get out, without being detected. We have _this_," he held up the iridescent invisibility cloak with one hand, "which I can't _believe_ Potter would forget. Yes I can, he's a stupid prat." Ginny couldn't help but smile at his conclusion. "Anyway, one of us can stay under the cloak, while the other causes a distraction. Not anything out of the ordinary; just something that will take her away from the office long enough for one of us to grab a potion."

"A distraction?" asked Ginny. She reached for her bag and rifled through it. "Aha!" she said, and with a triumphant grin she pulled out a small purple package.

"What's that?" asked Draco curiously. He eyed the large golden W embossed on the side of it suspiciously.

"Skiving Snackbox. The twins invented them," she said excitedly. "You haven't heard of them? They've been selling out at their shop in Diagon Alley."

Draco shrugged. "Malfoys don't go into joke shops. Especially not ones owned by Weasleys. It's not seemly."

"Anyway, you narrow-minded jerk," Ginny continued, "they're candies to get you out of class. I've got Fever Fudge, Puking Pastilles, and Noseblood Nougats."

Draco looked appalled. "What? Weasley, that's disgusting!"

Ginny grinned. "I know! I'm so proud of them. Anyway, as far as we know, Madam Pomfrey hasn't been able to figure out the difference between when people are actually sick and when they've just eaten the sweets. So one of us just pops one of these while the other works under the cloak."

"You take the sweet," said Draco, looking at the candies apprehensively. "Knowing your brothers, I'd suspect there's something in them that would somehow know that I'm Slytherin."

Ginny huffed. "That's ridiculous." Draco still eyed the box warily. "Fine, fine, I'll take it. Which one would be best, do you think?"

"Nosebleed," said Draco firmly. "If it's a fever or throwing up, she'll try and make you spend the night. And seeing as tomorrow morning's classes are cancelled because of the feast, you're probably not going to want to spend your valuable free time in the Hospital Wing."

Ginny nodded. "Smart," she said. Then – "Wait, we're doing this tonight?"

Draco shrugged. "No time like the present," he said. "Besides, curfew is extended an hour or so because it's Halloween."

Ginny couldn't find a real fault with his argument, so she just started piling books into her bag. "You sure about this?" she asked.

Draco nodded. "Yes, I'm sure. How come Potter gets to be the only one to have grandiose, illicit exploits? I want excitement too, damn it!" He thumped the table for emphasis.

Ginny paused and looked at him. He looked like a spoiled child defiantly demanding ice cream for dinner. She laughed, and he looked mildly affronted.

"Draco, you…" she trailed off and held her hands up in a gesture of defeat. "There are just no words."

Draco nodded. "I understand, Weasley. Many often find themselves impotent when it comes to accurately acclaiming my many virtues."

Ginny raised both her eyebrows. "Right," she said. The two students packed up their bags, returned their books to the shelves, and left the library.

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_Of all the ridiculously stupid things you've ever done_, he thought fiercely, _this is certainly near the top. If your father finds out about this, you're as good as dead._

_So let's just keep it our little secret, eh?_

He glanced at Ginny. The invisibility cloak gave everything he looked at a dreamy, ethereal feel. With her pale skin and careworn, determined little face, she looked like the vengeful spirit of a dead solider roaming a long-forgotten battlefield. Which, reflecting on all she'd been through with Tom Riddle, he supposed she was.

He never in a million years would have pictured this situation – he, draped with an invisibility cloak belonging to Potter, about to embark on a grand heist of the Hospital Wing with the youngest of the expansive Weasley litter. The thought of him not only aiding but also forming some sort of… _pact_… with the girl was laughable.

_Of course, you won't be laughing if your father finds out about it_, said a voice in the back of his head. No, that he wouldn't; Lucius would have him ripped out of school and the mark stamped on his arm so fast he wouldn't realize he'd even left the grounds. Draco was glad he'd had the foresight to make her perform _retineo dictum cello _with him, at least.

He shouldn't have told her anything in the first place. Snape was right; he needed to learn how to control his temper. If he hadn't have lost control, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

Though he couldn't necessarily say he regretted it. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, she was the only person who could understand his position. They were both caught in a cat's cradle of the Dark Lord's making, resisting his false promises in the name of defending what they loved: in his case, protecting his family from harm, and in hers, saving herself from what would undoubtedly be a very nasty fate in his hands. And, perhaps more importantly, for each of them such resistance would undoubtedly be complicated and come with a hefty price.

_And now you have an excuse see her…_ his mind said suggestively. Draco shook his head. _That's __ridiculous. _Though having something to do other than listen to Goyle's incessant perversions was nice. He lazily thought about her fingertips trailing across the line of his jaw….

"Are you ready?" Ginny asked aloud as she stood outside the door to the Hospital Wing, seemingly alone.

"Ready," replied Draco, his voice coming out of thin air. The corridor was deserted; this year, Dumbledore had welcomed back the trio of singing skeletons for the feast, and undoubtedly most students were still in the Great Hall enjoying the break from the usual schedule and making themselves sick on pumpkin pie and treacle tart. With any luck, they'd be there for another hour.

Ginny withdrew the Nosebleed Nougat from the pocket of her robes. The small oval candy was comprised of two colors: one side was poppy red, and the other was mint green. She had explained to Draco that the red side would make her nose start to bleed, and the green side would make the bleeding stop. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that the idea was pretty clever; especially so for those dunderheaded twins.

Ginny placed the red end of the candy in her mouth and bit down. Draco tried not to stare at the point where her delicate pink lips kissed the other half of the candy. _Not now, Draco. Focus_. She wrenched the green half away from her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

Blood trickled down her nose immediately. Her blood was the very same shade as her hair. It made Draco feel a little unsettled, and he was glad the cloak hid his face. "Here we go," she whispered to him.

She pushed the door to the Hospital Wing open wide. Draco darted in underneath her outstretched arm. "Madam Pomfrey?" she called out.

The old matron bustled out of her office. Like usual, she left the door partially open. "Yes?" she called out, eyebrows raised quizzically. Then, seeing Ginny, she clucked and said "Miss Weasley! I can't seem to keep you out of here." She narrowed her eyes. "This wasn't another trick by that Malfoy boy, was it? Just say the word, and I'll have him in here for a week scrubbing out bedpans for detention!"

Ginny, to Draco's great dismay, seemed to consider the offer for just a second. Draco angrily poked her in the back.

"Oh!" she cried, surprised by the poke. Then "Oh, oh no, nothing like that," she quickly brushed aside the idea. "It just… it just started happening." She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know how. It's never happened before."

"Hmmph.," replied Madam Pomfrey, sounding skeptical. She placed her hands on her hips and peered at Ginny. Ginny matched the older woman's gaze with a face of angelic innocence. Madam Pomfrey sighed, lowered her hands, and gestured over to the line of beds against the walls. "Hop up then, let's have a look," she said resignedly.

Time to act. As Ginny followed Madam Pomfrey toward the beds, Draco tip-toed over to the woman's office. The door was only partially open. Draco stretched himself up to his tallest height, exhaled deeply, and barely squeezed his tall frame through the door without moving it so much as a millimeter.

He was inside. He breathed a short sigh of relief.

For someone who seemed so meticulous about cleanliness, she sure was messy when it came to her personal space. Directly in front of him was a large desk made of honey-colored wood. It was riddled with stacks of papers, old quills, and empty goblets. To his left was a table with scissors and strips of bandage cut to various lengths. To his right stood a metal cabinet with a keyhole that stood about two meters high.

Draco turned his attention to the cabinet. The metal was teal and looked fairly flimsy. He reached for the handle and pulled.

Nothing happened.

Not surprised, he pulled his wand out of his back pocket. "_Alohomora_," he whispered, tapping his wand against the keyhole. He heard something softly click. _I can't believe that actually worked_, he thought gleefully. _People in this castle are so naive. _He paused and listened for the voices of the nurse and her patient. Satisfied they were both still in the main room, he carefully opened the cabinet door.

His eyes were greeted with row upon row of medicinal potions, commercially and locally brewed. The top shelf was filled with specialty potions; the lurid candy-colored bottles of _Hasty Hair_ and _Nail Nourishment_ were mixed with more serious potions like _Skele-Gro_. The next shelf had small vials of various hot-pink colored stomach potions, and the next held beakers of _Pepper-Up!_ labeled with Professor Snape's strong, slanting handwriting. The final two shelves were stacked front-to-back with clear bottles of an opaque white liquid. _Jackpot_, thought Draco.

The bottles ranged in size from largest on the left to smallest on the right. The smallest were in vials about the size of his index finger, haphazardly thrown into two round buckets. Each vial held enough of the potion to knock someone out for a good five hours or so; Draco had been given one when that damn hippogriff slashed his arm open third year.

He swung his bag around from his back. There didn't appear to be any sense of order to the vials, so Draco grabbed a handful from the first bucket and shoved them in his bag. He shuffled them around carefully, trying to minimize the clinking noise of glass-on-glass, then grabbed a second handful and repeated the process. He looked in his bag and counted the vials. There were about ten in all. Enough for nearly a week's worth of sleep.

He bit the side of his bottom lip for a moment, then quickly grabbed two more vials and slipped them into his left breast pocket. They rattled merrily against the metal of his flask. _Might as well_, he thought. No sense in going on an illicit raid if there was nothing in it for himself.

He carefully buckled his bag closed. He mixed up the remaining vials to try and mask the missing ones. _Not that she'll notice_, he thought dryly. He closed the door to the cabinet and pressed his wand to it, whispering an incantation. He heard the lock click over and tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge.

Pleased with himself, he turned toward the door to make his escape from the office. He took a step toward it and then watched in horror as it swung open of its own accord.

"I really don't think that's necessary!" he heard Ginny protesting as she followed the nurse into the office. Draco ducked behind the desk just in time to avoid being trod upon by Madam Pomfrey, who immediately walked over to the potions cabinet. Ginny's eyes roved wildly behind the nurse's back, checking the office for any signs of disarray.

"Well, it just won't stop, will it?" said Madam Pomfrey, exasperated. "And I know you say _it just happened_, but that's another hex, I just know it." She pulled a small silver key out of her pocket and put it in the keyhole of the cabinet. "I have something in here that should do the trick. Though I don't think I should even give it to you, since you refuse to tell me the truth." She loudly banged bottles against each other as she rummaged on the top shelf.

It was now or never. Draco carefully stepped out from behind the other side of the desk and worked his way to Ginny. He raised his left index finger to her cheekbone and rapped on it three times.

She didn't flinch. While Madam Pomfrey's face was still buried in her cabinet, Ginny pulled the green half of the sweet out of her pocket and shoved it in her mouth. She gave it four strong quick chews and swallowed hard. "I think it's stopping!" she said, pointing at her bloody face. "Look!"

Draco had already made his way to the main door of the Hospital Wing. He waited impatiently as Ginny tried to wrap up her charade.

"I just can't imagine what you kids get yourselves into!" exclaimed an exasperated Madam Pomfrey as she ushered a clean-faced Ginny to the door a few minutes later. "Come back if it starts again, and we'll give it another go. I'm not entirely convinced it's done for good."

"Oh yes, I will!" said Ginny, nodding enthusiastically. Her eyes were wide and innocent as a doe's.

Madam Pomfrey pinched her lips together, then said "Are you sure this doesn't have anything to do with Draco Malfoy?"

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing at all, I promise," she lied smoothly. "Don't worry, I've learned to stay away from him."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "That's a good girl. Now go back to your dormitory and rest up."

Ginny nodded again and then used her left hand to open the door to the hospital wing. Pausing with the door open wide, she turned to Madam Pomfrey and smiled. "Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey. It's good to know there's someone looking after us."

Madam Pomfrey clucked but looked pleased. She shooed the girl out the door.

Ginny waited until they had rounded the corner before she said anything. "Did you do it?" she asked to the air. Her eyes were hopeful, and she sounded just a tad bit breathless.

Draco pulled off the cloak. "Of course I did," he said haughtily. "That's why I'm the one who did the nicking. I've got deft fingers."

Ginny couldn't help but turn red and giggle. "Oh come on, Weasley!" said Draco. "Not like that! You're as bad as Goyle." Then, realizing what he said, "Not that I'm not skilled in that department, thank you very much. Many a girl has begged for the Draco treatment, I assure you. But that's beside the point."

"I didn't mean to doubt your, uh, _skills_," said Ginny, trying to repress her laughter. "So can I have the potion?"

Draco reached into his bag and pulled out three vials. Ginny's face fell. "That's all you've got?" she asked, her voice disappointed.

"No," said Draco slowly, "that's not all I've got. But with your temperament I wouldn't be surprised if you took them all tonight and fell into a coma for the rest of the year. So I'm keeping the rest." He grinned. "For insurance purposes." He put the three vials into her outstretched hands.

"Insurance?" she said, snatching the vials away from him.

"I like to have leverage. How do I know you're not going to sick your brother on me or go blabbing my secrets all over the castle?"

"Well, since if I blab my tongue will fall out, I don't think you have to worry about _that_."

"Regardless," said Draco grandly, "if you don't play nice, you don't get any more potions. So there."

"You're such a _Slytherin_," she said spitefully. She put the vials carefully in the pocket of her robes and turned to go.

"Wait!" said Draco suddenly, surprising himself. "The cloak. Don't you want to give it back to Potter?"

"Not my fault he left it," she said archly, tossing her red waves over a shoulder. Then, suddenly, she winked. "Besides, don't you have to get revenge for some mud or something?"

Draco, much to his dismay, could have kissed her. She walked away, the vials of Dreamless Sleep making a soft clinking noise with each step she took. He shook his head.

_Trouble. That's all you're getting into with her, Draco Malfoy._

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A/N: Thank you again to all those who've reviewed, who've added me to their story alerts or favorite stories lists, and to those who are just simply here to read anonymously. I'll be out of the country for the next two weeks, so it may be quite a while before the next update. I hope this holds you over 'til then.

"Isn't this _touching_?" - Draco Malfoy, _A Very Potter Musical_

"You lost that privilege ages ago," - wording inspired by Nutmeg44's review of Chapter 5 :)


	9. For the Best

_The Widening Gyre, Part 9: For the Best_

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J.K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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"What I'm really trying to ask, Professor," said Draco casually, "is if you know of any sort of undetectable curses that would affect one's heart?"

He nonchalantly took a bite of a cinnamon biscuit. Professor Snape put down his tea and gave the boy's face a long, scrutinizing look.

They were back in Snape's office, though this time Draco wasn't being disciplined. It was Friday morning, and Draco had stopped by to discuss, among other things, the Darkness Detection Compound that they had brewed two weeks ago.

"And why would you want to know about anything like that?" Professor Snape asked sternly.

Draco swallowed his biscuit and took another from the small plate on Snape's desk. "For my Defense Against the Dark Arts project, of course," he said smoothly. "I told you, I want to research defensive potions. As far as I've read, in none of the tests was there ever a reaction with the drinker's heart."

"No, I don't suppose there would have been," said Snape blandly. He folded his thin fingers together. "What are the three basic areas that most magic performed on humans aims to affect?"

"Head, heart, and hands," recited Draco in an almost sing-song voice. "We learned that first year. Head for spells involving free will, thought, knowledge, and decision making; heart for passions, love, and hate; and hands for animation and dexterity."

Snape nodded. "So, if a drinker's heart lit up, then we can attribute it to passions, love, and hate."

"Love potions?" asked Draco. "Would a love potion count as dark magic?"

"You'll find that depends upon the intent and the specifics of the potion," said Snape, picking his words carefully. "Most love potions, although incredibly unfair to the drinker, are brewed not with the intention of causing physical or mental 'harm,' so to speak, to the drinker or those around them." He unhinged his hands and took a meditative drink of tea.

Draco furrowed his brow. "So by itself a love potion wouldn't be picked up by a Darkness Detection Compound?"

"I don't think so. But it's possible," Snape amended, "if the circumstances were right, and someone had tampered with a usual formula. And then, the potion wouldn't be merely a potion; it would have to be combined with some sort of charm or spell." He eyed Draco critically. "But it would be very rare, and would require a bit of complicated and possibly dark magic to make it work."

"How much is a bit?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "There are very few witches or wizards that could accomplish such a feat. I can think of three living, only two with the privilege of a wand, and only one with the necessary skills, freedom, and lack of morality or ethics."

"Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord," said Draco matter-of-factly. "The one who would do it being obvious."

Snape nodded. "This is all theoretical, of course, and as such you won't find any information about it in any case studies."

"But why would someone bother with a love potion instead of just doing a straight up enchantment?"

"It's an issue of control," said Snape. "Obedience. Evidence has shown that, when pressed, human beings revert to their most basic instinctual feelings: fear and love. Each has its own power, far more than that of respect or duty. But when someone acts out of fear, they generally do it unwillingly, as an unpleasant but necessary chore, and will often abandon it if a situation arises which makes abandonment a true possibility. But when someone does something out of love, they devote themselves to it; they see their actions through until their goal is met, or they die trying."

Draco chewed on the side of his lower lip. "So by combining a love potion with the initial enchantment, the caster is sort of ensuring that, even if control over the spell fails, the drinker will still act in accordance with the caster's wishes because they believe themselves to love the caster?"

"As I've said, there's no historical precedent or research data to back the idea up. But, theoretically, it could happen.

Draco looked thoughtful. "Would it still require use of a love potion? As in, a tangible liquid medium through which the spell would be passed on to the person it affected?"

Snape closed his mouth and mulled it over. "In most cases, I'd think yes, but the method of transference could possibly be changed depending upon the ability of the caster. It would have to be taken internally, somehow, but not necessarily drank as you normally would do with a potion."

"What about ink?" asked Draco in a nondescript tone. He casually swirled his tea around his cup.

"Ink?" repeated Snape. "I suppose it's possible, if the subject had repeated, prolonged exposure, that the potion would be absorbed through pores on the skin."

"What if, for example, someone chews on their quills," began Draco suddenly. "Wouldn't that speed up the transference? They'd be taking it orally. Sort of."

Snape looked pensive. "Yes, I suppose that would work. But it would have to be a particularly strong enchantment."

Draco mused on the answer. "In Transfiguration, McGonagall—"

"_Professor_ McGongall," interrupted Snape.

"_Professor_ McGonagall," Draco amended, fighting back an eye-roll, "told us that objects can sometimes absorb a bit of the magic that's been cast on them, especially if it's done by a very powerful wizard. That part of the enchantment may always sort of _live on_ in the object. Could the same be true with potions?"

"It's happened before, yes, with things like poisoned necklaces and the like." Snape replied. Draco crunched a third biscuit and looked thoughtful. Snape's apprehension increased.

"And this is all for your Defense Against the Dark Arts project?" he inquired.

"Oh yes," nodded Draco. "I find it quite interesting, and I'm rather anxious to get top marks this time. You know Father, Professor; he expects me to 'rise to my full potential' and all that."

"Mmm," murmured Snape, as Draco flashed a winning smile at him. "Yes, I know."

Draco excused himself shortly afterward.

Troubled, Snape stepped out from behind his desk and over to his fireplace. He picked a small tin box up off the mantelpiece, reached in, and scooped up a small handful of glittery, silvery powder. He threw it in the fireplace.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said. "I'd like a word."

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Draco was deep in thought as he left Snape's office. So deep, in fact, he ran headlong into someone halfway down the corridor.

"Knut for your thoughts, Malfoy?" asked a deep voice. Draco looked up into the dark face of Blaise Zabini.

"No, not too much," Draco shrugged noncommittally and brushed off the front of his robes. "Just counting down the days until we can get out of this wretched castle, you know. The first years seem to get more and more irritating."

"S'that all?" asked Blaise casually. "You seemed very preoccupied. I thought you might be thinking of a certain young redhead with whom you've been spending your evenings…." He let the statement trail off suggestively and calmly raised a single eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" asked Draco coolly.

"I mean," Blaise replied with equal coolness, "that you and that little girl have wandered off together nearly every night for the past week. What's going on? A few weeks ago you were calling her a stupid blood traitor bitch. Now you're study buddies?" He shook his head disapprovingly. "Oh, no, what would your father say?"

"Hah," said Draco, thinking of a quick bluff. "You think he doesn't know?"

Blaise, Draco noticed with interest, looked momentarily confused but tried to cover it up. "Oh he does, does he? And he approves of such… _consorting_?"

Draco smirked. "He told me I could play around however I liked as long as I didn't bring my dirty laundry home with me." He was practiced at lying so his words came out smooth. "Apparently I've been doing a bit too much public airing, though, seeing as I've caught your attention."

Blaise centered his dark brown eyes on Draco and tried to stare him down. The other boy held his gaze without flinching. Blaise looked away first, scowling. "I just want to know where your loyalty lies, Malfoy. I feel like the next minute I turn around, you'll be walking down the hall arm-in-arm with Potter, on your way to a Gryffindor quidditch practice."

"I like being on a team that wins, Zabini." Draco said with a dark grin. "Besides, she means nothing to me. But," his lips curved into a devilish grin, "you should _feel_ the things she can do with her tongue." He winked. "You know what they say about redheads."

Blaise broke out into a wicked smile. "You've been holding out on us."

Draco shook his head. "A gentleman never tells about his indiscretions with a lady."

Blaise laughed. "And why do we all know about Pansy's bedroom technique, then?"

"Because," Draco said simply, "she's not a lady."

Blaise laughed and the two boys headed down the hall together, neither one very much at ease.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

Friday morning. The rosy fingers of dawn had long since reached out to uncover the world from its blanket of darkness, and when Ginny Weasley opened her eyes she was greeted by a sky as clear and blue as a sapphire. She breathed deeply and slowly extended her arms over her head, savoring the feeling of her muscles stretching out. She smiled.

Judging by the fact that all the other girls had already left the dorm, it must have been quite late. It was the first time in ages Ginny had not only gotten a full night's rest, but managed to do it in the comfort of her own bed. She took another deep breath and released it slowly, feeling completely relaxed. Even the small round scar, memento of her last nighttime excursion with Tom, couldn't seem to bother her this morning.

The curse, her spat with her brother – things all looked better by the light of day. She suspected it was a result of finally having a night of peaceful rest. And if she was careful with her potions, she had at least two more nights ahead of her. More so, if she played her cards right.

_All thanks to Draco…_

She furrowed her brow. _Well, not __all__ thanks to Draco,_ she thought. _I was the one who had to make my own nose bleed and lie to Madam Pomfrey!_

_But he was the one who stole it for you. And wasn't it his idea in the first place?_

_Shut up._

Things certainly had taken an interesting turn with Draco Malfoy. But interesting didn't necessarily mean bad. Ginny found that if she overlooked the arrogance and the insults—which, admittedly, there were much and many—she actually kind of, well, _liked_ him. Maybe _like_ wasn't quite the word. On the spectrum of hating the very ground upon which one stood and considering someone a friend, Ginny felt that her relationship with Draco probably hovered somewhere around 'I think you're funny, but I also sort of think you're a jerk.'

His thoughts had been quite revealing. And, consequences of the curse aside, he seemed to have taken a great risk in showing them to her. Draco Malfoy, prince of Slytherin and son of one of the darkest families in the wizarding world, made sick at the thought of becoming a Death Eater. Quite a position to be in. She shook her head, not sure what to make of it.

At the very least, it was refreshing to be around someone who didn't act so goddamn sanctimonious. Ravenclaws were the ones who were supposed to be snobbish, but lately the Gryffindors could have given them a run for their money. _What's the point in being noble,_ Ginny thought, _if you still act like a dick?_ She shook her head.

She dressed slowly; morning classes had been cancelled due to the previous night's feast, and on Friday afternoons she had back-to-back free periods (to study for OWLs, explained McGonagall as she passed out schedules the first morning back). Ginny found herself with a full day ahead of her in which she was obligated to do absolutely nothing.

She opened the dormitory window. The sun was shining brightly, unusual for the first of November, and while she wouldn't quite describe the temperature as warm, it certainly wasn't as cold as she was expecting. Ginny grinned. She'd been spending too much time cooped up in the dark and dusty corners of the library; a day spent studying under one of the vibrantly-leafed trees of Hogwarts would do her some good.

She dressed and carefully packed her notes and a few books into her bag. She was humming as she descended the girls' staircase and made her way across the common room to the portrait hole. She didn't notice the pair of emerald eyes that morosely followed her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

Draco found himself spending the rest of the day with Blaise hashing out strategies for their next Quidditch match against Ravenclaw and throwing Filibuster Fireworks into packs of nervous first years. He felt strangely at peace, and the day passed in a semblance of what Draco would have, before October, called normal. In the afternoon, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, the boys headed to the pitch to get in a few laps before dinner.

"Isn't that your girl?" asked Blaise, nudging Draco in the ribs and pointing at a large oak tree across the lake. Underneath it sat a small girl with fiery red hair. She was surrounded by textbooks and looked thoroughly engrossed in whatever it was she was writing. Draco saw her pause, lift her quill to her mouth, and delicately give it a nibble. He narrowed his eyes.

Crabbe and Goyle, highly interested, looked over to where Blaise was pointing.

"Ginny Weasley?" asked Goyle. "You're seeing Ginny _Weasley_?"

"I most certainly am _not_," replied Draco, his tone acidic. He shot Blaise a dirty look. "And I would appreciate it if certain people would not spread such malicious rumors about me."

Blaise grinned. "Perhaps 'seeing' isn't the correct term for your relationship, then? What would you call it?"

"None of your damn business," said Draco darkly, "that's what I'd call it."

Blaise laughed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy! Just give us a taste! What's she hiding under those robes, eh? How much of that uncharted territory have you managed to map out?"

"Zabini," said Draco, keeping his voice as cool and unattached as possible, "I already explained to you, I will not be discussing the nature of any indiscretions that may or may not have taken place with that girl."

"That's smart," said Crabbe. "She's got, what, fifteen brothers? I don't blame you, mate." Goyle nodded in agreement.

"Thank you so much for your support, Crabbe," replied Draco sarcastically. "I'm always so pleased to meet your approval."

Crabbe grinned at his friend and shrugged. "Don't mention it."

Blaise started to laugh and then abruptly stifled it when he saw Draco's face. He shifted his broomstick to the other shoulder. "None of our business, right," he said, looking at Draco sideways. "Though I don't see why you're so sensitive about it. If this was any other girl the whole school would already know how many fillings she had and what color knickers she wore."

"As I explained to you already, Zabini, she's not an appropriate match for a Malfoy."

"What about for Potter?" asked Blaise mischievously, his eyes dancing with malice. "You think she'd be an appropriate match for him?"

Draco looked disgusted. "The only appropriate match for Potter would be the giant squid. Why would you even bring him up?"

Blaise jerked his head back toward the oak tree. "Because it looks like he's trying to make a play for it."

Draco jerked his head around with a quickness that made Blaise narrow his eyes in suspicion. Harry Potter was heading straight for the oak under which Ginny sat. Draco clenched his jaw firmly. Then, he calmly turned back around and continued to the pitch.

"I don't care who she talks to," he said coldly, looking straight ahead, "and it's none of my concern if she wants to fall for that stupid prat's sweaty-palmed pawings. Make no mistake, though, if I hear of anything happening between those two insipid Gryffindopes, she's as good as dead to me. I'll find some other girl to please me. I don't share my toys, especially not with _Potter_."

They had arrived at the Quidditch pitch. Draco swung his broom from over his shoulder, mounted it, and shot off from the ground like lightening moving in reverse. He started his first lap at a reckless, breakneck speed. The other three boys mounted their brooms.

"What's got his shorts in a twist?" asked Goyle grumpily, staring after their friend who was flying as if he'd lost his mind.

Blaise shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure it'll all be taken care of." He kicked off the ground, hard.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

She saw him before he realized she saw him. Cursing, she buried her face into her textbook. _Maybe he's not coming to see me_, she thought without hope of it being true. She glanced up quickly. No, unless he intended to go running off into the Forbidden Forest, it looked like he was coming to talk to her. She took a deep breath and turned a page in her Defense Against the Dark Arts text.

"Er, hi Ginny," Harry said upon his arrival. She looked up without bothering to feign surprise. Both his hands were shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders were hunched up awkwardly. She recognized this as classic insecure Harry behavior. At some point in her life she would have labeled it endearing; right now she was just annoyed.

"Yes?" she said simply. She kept her face carefully blank.

"Can I sit down?" he asked. His eyes were wide and sincere, and his expression was earnest. Harry was never one to hide his emotions. He couldn't even if he wanted to; he was not prone to deceit, and they showed as plainly on his face as footprints in deep snow.

Ginny sighed and closed _Intermediate Defensive Spells, Volume 2_. She rubbed her eyes tiredly with her left hand, and then used it to cup her chin and prop up her face on her knees. She looked up at him, her resolve to stay angry draining away. "Alright," she said.

He sat down next to her and leaned his back against the tree. He started to say something, stopped, knit his brows together, and then tried again.

"I owe you an apology," he said simply.

Ginny snorted and looked at him sideways. "For…?"

"For, you know, last night," Harry said. He picked up a long piece of grass and twisted it nervously in his hands. "I lost my temper, and I'm sorry." He tied the piece of grass in a knot. "It's just, well, I had this great idea in my head, you know? I'd go to the library and bring you the basket, and we would talk and laugh and eat it together…" He shrugged. "I had it all planned out, and you were going to be so happy, and then Malfoy showed up, and I… well, I just lost my cool, I guess."

"Lost your cool?" asked Ginny, trying to repress a laugh. "Harry, you called him a pompous prick and gave him the finger."

Harry gave a small smile. "Yeah, I guess I did. But I was just… I was just so angry! And when you told me to go, it felt like…" He bit his bottom lip and hesitated for a second. He tugged on both ends of the knotted grass.

"Yes?" asked Ginny, not unkindly. She placed her right hand on his knee. "Harry, you can tell me."

He took a deep breath. "Well, to be honest, Ginny, it felt like you were choosing him over me." His whole face turned a deep shade of burgundy, and he looked away from her. "And I was so… I was so _disappointed_, you know? Here I came in on my high horse, expecting you to fall all over me because I brought you some _sandwiches_…" He shook his head in a self-depreciating way. "And then, I got angry at you! Because you didn't throw yourself at me or whatever I expected you to do!" He peevishly tossed away his piece of grass. "I'm so stupid," he said, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have treated you like that."

"Harry," she said softly. "Harry, you're not stupid." She shook his shoulder. "Look at me! Harry?"

He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were impossibly bright and reflected the sunlight faintly like polished pieces of jade. "Were you?" he asked sullenly. "Choosing him, I mean."

Ginny looked taken aback. "Harry, this isn't about you or him!" she said slowly. "I wasn't choosing anyone. It's about me, and it's about people telling me what to do." As she said the words, she realized they were true. "You know my family. It's not easy being the youngest, and the only girl at that. Everyone thinks they know what I should be doing, and that's all anyone ever tells me. I get sick of people thinking they know what's best for me when they really don't. So, last night, when you said we should go, I got a little irritated." She shrugged. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I'm not sorry I did it."

Harry looked surprised. "You're not sorry?"

Ginny shook her head defiantly. "No, I'm not. It's time I started sticking up for myself, Harry. And I'm sorry if you got hurt, but I'm not sorry I said something. And you of all people should understand how I feel, especially given how _you_ grew up."

Harry made a face when she brought up his life before Hogwarts, but then nodded. "Okay. I respect that."

"Good," said Ginny, crossing her arms. "Because I'm done playing the meek little sister."

Harry smiled a little. "I've seen you do a bat-bogey, and I don't think 'meek' really describes you accurately, Ginny."

"Shut up, Harry," she said with a laugh. Then, more seriously, "Can I ask you something?"

Harry thought about it for a moment. "Yes," he said slowly, "but only if I can ask you something too."

"Fair enough," said Ginny. Then—"Did you tell Ron that Draco and I were in the library together?"

"_Draco_?" exclaimed Harry. His face transformed into a mask of disbelief "You're calling Malfoy _Draco_ now?"

"Watch it, Harry," said Ginny quickly, narrowing her eyes. "I thought we had just come to an understanding. Don't mess it all up by being an idiot."

Harry sighed, and said sourly, "Yes, I told him," He threw his hands up in a defensive gesture as he saw Ginny's eyes alight with anger, "But not on purpose! Not to be a jerk or anything! He came to look for me when he saw I had left the feast, and he knew I was upset. It sort of… slipped out."

"It slipped out?" asked Ginny acerbically.

"I was upset," said Harry. "So yes, I said something. But not," he added quickly, "to get you in trouble or anything."

"Mmm," said Ginny noncommittally.

"Are you seeing him, then?" blurted Harry, blushing all over again. "I mean, I believed what you said before, that you weren't, but that was weeks ago, and... well…"

Ginny gave him a wry look. "No, Harry, I am not seeing Draco Malfoy. Honest answer."

"Okay," said Harry, looking just a little relieved. "But what _are_ you doing with him? I mean, I understand having to be his partner for potions, but are you hanging out together? You didn't seem to be on the friendliest terms with him in the library, but you weren't quite _objecting_ to him either…"

Ginny thought it over. "Well, we're working on a project together," she said. _That's pretty much the truth._

"A project?" asked Harry. "For what, that extra potions class you're taking?"

Ginny had a sudden memory of looking down at her steadily glowing heart. "Yes, for potions."

Harry nodded pensively. "And… and when's the project due? I mean, are you going to finish it any time soon?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't think so," she said, shaking her head. "It's pretty complicated, and we're not entirely sure where we're going with it yet. There are a lot of things we're still trying to… resolve."

When she shook her head, an errant tendril of hair had fallen into her eyes. Harry casually reached out and gently tucked it back behind her ear. She froze. He didn't even seem to notice he'd done it.

"So was that what you wanted to ask me?" she asked quickly, turning her head away so he wouldn't see the blush that was creeping across her cheekbones.

"No, actually." Harry bit his lip again. "Have you," he asked uncertainly, "seen my invisibility cloak? I left if when I left you last night, and I went back later but I couldn't find it." He looked distressed. "You know, it's the only thing I have of my dad's. I can't believe I would have left it!"

Ginny'd been expecting this. In fact, she had thought that would have been the first thing out of his mouth when he came over to talk to her. She looked at him, pursed her lips, and thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I have seen your invisibility cloak. But I don't have it."

"You don't have it?" asked Harry wildly. "Where did you see it? It's not—_he_ doesn't have it, does he?"

He looked so legitimately distraught that Ginny felt it best not to reveal the truth. "I think I know where it is," she said slowly, "and I'll be able to get it back to you. It might take a few days though."

"A few _days_?" he exclaimed, panic-stricken.

"Yes, maybe a few days. But I should be able to get it back. And you should be thankful that I can do it at all; that's a precious thing for you to just leave lying around, Harry," she admonished needlessly. Harry glowered. "Don't pout," she said, this time more sympathetically. "I'll get it back, I promise."

"Get it back?" he asked. "So he does have it?"

"I'll get it," she said. "Okay?"

Harry grunted and nodded. "Okay," he said resignedly. He looked down at her textbooks. "What are you working on?" he asked lightly.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," she replied, grateful for the change in topic. "I've got an essay due on Monday, and I'm terribly behind."

Harry smiled a little. "You know, I have a little experience with that subject."

"Oh really?" Ginny returned his smile. "Do you know the three effective counter-spells for curses that inhibit movement?"

Harry grinned. "I might be able to remember. Let me see what you've got so far." Ginny passed him her parchment and he began to read. She smiled and leaned back against the trunk of the oak, closing her eyes and relishing the last dregs of warmth from the November sun.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

The weekend passed uneventfully. Draco spent his time with Blaise and the rest of his Slytherin cronies; he avoided the library, the Great Hall, and anywhere else he may accidently run into Ginny. He'd caught glimpses from his broomstick of Ginny and that wretched prat Potter under the oak tree, and the image of Potter reaching out to brush Ginny's hair away from her face was burnt onto his retinas so deeply he could still see it when he closed his eyes to sleep.

Not that it mattered to him. It's not like they were _involved_ or anything. She was just some wretched little girl who'd gotten him wrapped up in her own petty problems, and he'd had the ill fortune to serve witness to her dark magic revelations. He was just in it for the ride, for the intrigue of it all.

But the audacity of Potter, the sheer impudence he must possess to think he could so casually reach out and positively _stroke_ her hair like that—her beautiful blood red hair, a lock of which was still wrapped in a snow-white handkerchief bearing the initials _DLM_ and tucked carefully away in the inside pocket of a certain young man's robes. The arrogance! The obscenity!

Not that it mattered to him. There were a million girls who'd kill to be his girlfriend. Hell, there were a million girls who'd kill to simply have the pleasure of taking his trousers off with their teeth.

Funny, though, that he didn't seem to want any of _them_.

He angrily ground his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal. He didn't feel much like eating this morning. He hadn't felt much like eating all weekend.

The rustle of wings heralded the morning mail. He spotted the white-and-brown-speckled markings of his family's owl flying over the heads of the more common brown owls. The owl swooped low and dropped a single thin envelope onto Draco's empty breakfast plate before swiftly flying out of the hall.

Draco picked it up and looked at it with interest. He recognized his father's precise handwriting instantly. He flipped the envelope over and noted that it was closed with his father's finest sealing wax – wax enchanted so that none but the person to whom the letter was addressed could open the envelope. Draco withdrew a small folding knife from his robes and carefully slit the letter open.

_Draco,_

_It has been recently brought to my attention that you've been enjoying the company of a charming young witch. Your mother and I are delighted you've found someone whose companionship pleases you. _

_We would very much like to meet this new girl. We request her presence at the manor over the Christmas holidays. We will host a party on Christmas Eve; she will come and stay the evening. The house elves will make up a room for her in the visitors' wing. _

_We have a big surprise planned for the party. You might even call it life-changing. I don't want to ruin the surprise by naming it in this letter; you'll have to wait and find out._

_We hope you liked your early birthday present and trust you are wearing them as we requested._

_Your father, _

_Lucius Malfoy_

Draco paused for a moment and then read the letter a second time. He let the full implications sink in. Someone'd been telling stories about him.

He read through it again, his brows furrowed. Several things were apparent from the letter: first, that someone had been informing his father about his activities at school; second, that his father was far too interested in the affair than general parental curiosity should allow (if, indeed, such a thing as 'general parental curiosity' was possible from Lucius); and third, that Ginny Weasley was expected to show up at his family's home on Christmas Eve.

Lucius didn't make requests; he simply told others what to do, and they did it with the full knowledge that going against orders would have not-so-nice results. When his father said Ginny would come to their house during the holidays, it meant that _Ginny would come to their house during the holidays_. Draco had no doubt that if she failed to appear he would face dire consequences, and she might as well.

They already knew who this 'charming young witch' was, he was sure of it. The rumors about him and Pansy had spread all through Slytherin house after the Yule Ball, and the Parkinsons themselves were good friends with the Malfoys; still, his parents had shown no interest in Pansy whatsoever. Word had gotten out that he was supposedly dating a Weasley, and his father probably intended to 'nip the problem in the bud,' so to speak.

Of course, that was assuming this was really about Lucius' disapproval of the relationship and not some way to draw Ginny closer to the Dark Lord. But how would Lucius know? Draco thought about Ginny's most recent nightmare. Things were happening to her, and according to her they were very real things that hadn't happened in the entire time she'd been having these dreams about the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord had been controlling her, been getting ready to use her, perhaps if he'd gotten wind of Lucius' son's relationship with the girl, he'd try to monopolize it and use it to draw her to him. Draco tried to banish the thought from his mind.

He looked at the letter again. He couldn't speak for his mother. She might, he thought wryly, actually be 'delighted.' Though his father tried to squash it, his mother possessed quite a romantic nature. Draco's first memory of her was when he was scarcely older than six, tucked beneath a black velvet bedspread and listening to his mother read _Le Petit Prince_ to him in the original French. Every so often she would sigh and tenderly push his hair away from his forehead.

She'd paid for those moments in blood. She 'knew better than to bring _dirty muggle books_ into the house' screamed his father one October evening after a house-elf had discovered it folded into the sheets under Draco's mattress. He'd backhanded her across the face with such force she fell to the ground. The heavy gold ring molded in the shape of a dragon that Lucius wore on his middle finger ripped across Narcissa's skin and left in its wake droplets of blood and bruises that blossomed across her cheek like dark autumn flowers.

_Everything you love, keep it secret,_ his mother whispered into Draco's hair a week later as she hugged the boy tightly to her chest. _Everything you love can be turned into a weapon and used against you._ Those words felt strangely weighty to Draco's childish mind, and he never forgot them.

It was those words that came to him unbidden as he read the letter for a third time.

And what was that about a surprise? That part of the letter was completely uncharacteristic of Lucius. A life-changing surprise. Draco snorted. The only thing life-changing his father had ever done was take the Mark.

The Mark.

Draco felt like a ghost had walked through him. For a moment, he forgot how to breath. Surely, surely that wasn't what his father meant. He swallowed. No, unless his father was going to announce the whole family was packing and moving to Albania, he was certain his father was referring to receiving the Mark.

He folded the letter up and tucked it away into his bag. His face, he was certain, had betrayed nothing about the contents of the letter. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up.

"Any interesting news from home today, Malfoy?" asked Blaise Zabini, who had been sitting across from him. His face was genial except for his eyes, which glittered dangerously like those of a cat at the hunt.

Draco shrugged arrogantly and said in a blasé tone "Just the usual, mother going on about new decorations for the parlor or some nonsense like that." He turned away from the table and nonchalantly walked toward the doors.

He waited until he got to the Great Hall for his eyes to narrow and his teeth to clench. Well, that solved one mystery. Blaise's father had been on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the same time as Lucius, and since then he and Draco's father had become well acquainted. Most likely Blaise wrote a note to his father, mentioned Draco's involvement with Ginny Weasley, and the elder Zabini took it upon himself to inform Lucius.

Blaise wouldn't have given himself away so easily if he didn't have a reason. Draco thought back to what Blaise had said on the Friday before. _I just want to know where your loyalty lies._

And where did Draco's loyalty lie, if indeed he had any? The answer to that question had been getting more and more muddy ever since Draco had started hanging around that damn girl. He cursed the day he'd interrupted Snape's fifth year potions lecture and saw her standing there, all fire and defiance and passion. Even though he'd taken great pains to avoid her all weekend, he found he couldn't stop thinking about her. No matter what he did, the image of Ginny Weasley haunted him like the ghost of a dead lover.

He'd have to see her soon. And not just because of the letter; even if she'd been careful with the Dreamless Sleep, she would have exhausted her supplies over the course of the long weekend. Plus he still had Potter's invisibility cloak. He suspected she would ask for it back, and while part of him wanted to keep it (it was, no doubt about it, an incredible magical artifact, and he still hadn't gotten his revenge on Potter for the third year mud throwing), he knew he would give it to her. Draco didn't know where this distressing bit of integrity was coming from, but he had an inkling it had something to do with the way her brown eyes bored into his own. She had a way of looking at him that made him feel squeamish, as if she had put a magnifying spell on him and was examining his very pores.

Very well. If he went to the library tonight, he was sure he'd find her. He'd have to keep it secret, though. Obviously he had been too careless, as he had given Blaise enough to feel like the boy needed to inform Draco's father of his son's actions.

Draco curled his lip as he though about Blaise. He'd have to think of an appropriate way to put the boy back in his place. No one narks on a _Malfoy_.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

Ginny sensed him without seeing him.

"You've been avoiding me all weekend."

She didn't look up from her parchment. She was sequestered in the very back and unpopulated area of the library, working on an essay for her regular potions class with Snape. She'd just listed the ingredients for the Draught of Peace and was about to start explaining how a differentiation in hellebore levels could affect the potion's viscosity when she felt a tingling around the area where Tom had burned her. She inexplicably knew Draco was near.

She heard a shuffling noise as the chair across from her pulled itself out. "It's not like you've gone out of your way to talk to me," he said grumpily.

Ginny snorted and dipped her quill into her bottle of ink. "Oh, yes, that would have gone over well. Next time I see you chatting with Blaise I'll just stop by and say 'hello,' shall I?" She looked at the chair. "Could you take that off? It's a bit unnerving, conversing with thin air."

Draco pulled the cloak off and disheveled his hair in the process. Ginny tried not to think about how handsome it made him. "Thank you," she said archly and turned back to her essay.

"Here," Draco rudely shoved the cloak across the table. "You'll be wanting this back, right?"

Ginny looked up, surprised. She'd expected she'd have to flatter and cajole him into returning the cloak (and of course hexing him when he refused to), but here he was handing it over without a fight. "Yes, actually," she said, setting down her quill and grabbing the invisibility cloak. She stuffed it in her bag.

Draco scowled. "I'm sure Potter wouldn't appreciate you treating his cloak like that," he said moodily. He flicked the table in annoyance.

His tone made her automatically put up her defenses. "Since when do you care about what Harry would 'appreciate'?" she asked nastily. Her lip was curled up in an affronted sort of way.

"That's what he talked to you about last Friday, right?" asked Draco before he could stop himself. Ginny's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of outrage. "That's right," Draco continued, his words falling out of his mouth faster than his self-control could contain them. "I saw you together, under the oak. Continuing your date from last Thursday? Good for you, you're finally getting what you always wanted, eh Mrs. Scarhead?"

"Don't even pretend like you have any idea about anything I've ever wanted, Malfoy," Ginny said in a low, dangerous voice.

"I know one thing you've been wanting, but as soon as I handed it over you were back playing with Potter without a second thought!" He reached into his robes and pulled out one of the small vials of Dreamless Sleep. He tossed it at her. Ginny dove out of her chair and caught it scarcely before it hit the floor and smashed into pieces. "Bint," Draco positively spat at her."

As soon as the word hit her ears, Ginny snapped. "Why are you here, then, you stupid ass?" she cried from her position on the floor. "If you find me so goddamn offensive I wonder why you even bothered coming to find me at all!" She stood up and recklessly tossed the small glass vial in the air. With a flick of her wand she sent it careening violently into Draco's head. He cursed as it hit his face with such force that it shattered.

Ginny had never in her life felt this angry. Even when Ron had screamed accusations at her in the Gryffindor common room she hadn't been this enraged. Draco, it seemed, had a supernatural ability to bring her from neutral to positively fucking insane in about three seconds. Her hands shook, and her eyes burned with her fury. Her face was hot and flushed.

"You were the one who followed me in the middle of the night," she said, pointing her finger dramatically at him. Incredibly aware of where they were, she tried to keep her voice quiet. "You wanted me to stage a goddamn heist of the Hospital Wing with you, and you were the one who _invited me into your fucking head_," she used the finger she'd been pointing at him with to tap roughly on her own temple. "So don't you _dare_ try and purposely antagonize me about who I decide to talk to. _I didn't ask for any of this. _Don't you think I have enough problems in my life without you creating more?"

She paused to take a deep breath. During her whole tirade, Draco hadn't said a single word. He was simply glaring at her as if she'd purposely broke his broomstick, his eyes narrowed to angry little slits, the opaque white potion slowly dripping off his chin. If she hadn't been so damn angry, she would have found the whole situation comical. She was about to go off on him again when she noticed a strange gleam in Draco's eyes underneath his resentment. A thought suddenly struck her.

"You're not… are you _jealous_?" she asked incredulously.

This brought Draco back to reality immediately. "That's ridiculous!" he declared loudly. "Jealous? Of _Potter_? Why on earth would I be jealous of _Potter_?"

"I don't know, Malfoy, why don't you tell me?" challenged Ginny, crossing her arms and looking at him expectantly.

To Ginny's immense satisfaction, the entirety of Draco's face turned red. He didn't say a word; he merely glared at her, then extracted a white handkerchief from an inner pocket. He deftly cleaned his face with it before he looked down at it, seemed to come to some sort of sudden realization, and hastily shoved it back in his robes.

"Well?" she asked again, but less meanly. She was never one to stay in a temper for long, and she found herself distracted by Draco's apparent embarrassment. "Are you going to say anything?"

"Back to 'Malfoy,' now, is it?" Draco asked bitterly, standing up from his chair. "I'm not surprised. I should expect as much, from you."

Ginny glared at him, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

Draco scowled. "I can't depend on anything from you. You're completely unpredictable. One minute you're telling me to go fuck off, and the next you're winking at me and letting me take Potter's toys away." He shook his head. "You're mad, you're positively mad. If you want to hate me, then hate me, fine. But stop playing with me like this."

_Oh Merlin. That sounds like it was ripped right from a melodramatic article in_ Witch Weekly. "Playing with you?" Ginny asked incredulously. "Playing with you? How on Earth am I _playing with you_?"

"Everything! You claim that I'm the one avoiding you when you're the one who doesn't want to talk with me! You were the one who showed me your thoughts; I wasn't trying to see them, so I wouldn't have if you didn't want me to! You—you—" Draco struggled to find something else to accuse her of. "You just—you act like you want me around, then you act like you don't! It's bloody _confusing_!"

"Why would I want you around, if you're going to say things like that?" she asked venomously. "Why would anyone?"

"I never wanted to be your friend," he said harshly. "But you got me dragged into all of this!"

"I didn't drag you into anything!" Ginny protested, offended. "I never wanted you to help me!"

"You just wanted me to do your research, let you stay in the library after hours for you, steal some potions to make your life a little easier."

Ginny flushed again but shut her mouth. When he put it that way, he might have a point. Not that she would ever actually admit it.

"You offered those things," she said. "You _offered_. Why should I say 'no'?"

"So you admit, you used me for what I could get you?"

Ginny made an incredulous noise in the back of her throat. "You are the most self-absorbed person I've ever met."

Draco turned on her. "Self-absorbed? _Self-absorbed?_" He stood up and leaned across the table, fixing his intense gaze squarely on her eyes. "Believe or not, you stupid little weasel, I've never gone out of my way to help _anyone_ before. Not a single person. The least selfish I've ever been in my life has been when I've been around _you_." He paused to take a deep breath.

Ginny quaked under his gaze. She was completely taken aback by what he'd said about himself. She thought about their encounters, the time he took to help her with her research, how he hadn't revealed to anyone the secret about her curse. The ostracizing he would surely face if his housemates discovered he was spending so much time with her. Perhaps she was being a bit unfair. Perhaps, if you put it all into perspective, he was actually being civil to her. Maybe even _more_ than civil.

"You think this is easy for me?" he continued in a harsh, passionate whisper. "My family hates you and your family. Your family hates me and my family. That's how it's been for _centuries_, and that's fine. I was perfectly O.K. with that being the status quo. But then, but then _you_ had to come along and fuck everything up. You, with your nightmares and your curses and your stupid bloody hair!"

Ginny glared at him, her annoyance resurfacing at the mention of her hair. "Oh, so I should rejoice that you deign to talk to me? Thank you, gracious Lord Malfoy, for granting me the mighty privilege of your presence!" She dropped into a mock-curtsy.

"You think this is funny?" he asked spitefully. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you if my father gets a hold of you?"

Ginny stared at him. "Your father? _Your father_? What the hell does he have to do with any of this?"

Draco reached forcefully into his bag and pulled out the letter he'd received that morning. He threw it at Ginny. "Here, see for yourself," he said.

She picked up the letter from where it'd landed on the table. It was written on heavy, expensive parchment. Unfolding it, she scanned it quickly. She looked back up at Draco, her eyes dark and unreadable, but her face pale. "So?" she asked, trying to stay calm. "This says nothing about me."

"_He knows._ He knows we've been… whatever we've been doing!" said Draco. "Talking! Consorting! And he doesn't like it!"

Ginny shrugged. "Rumors. It's just rumors, how would he have found out about a thing like this?" She laughed weakly. "It's not like he has spies at Hogwarts, right?"

Draco sneered. "You don't understand, your family isn't part of our world." He shushed Ginny, who was about to speak up in defense of her family. She shut her mouth, fuming, as he continued. "Everything is a competition. Everything is a race to see who will be in the best position when He comes back. I'm an extension of my father. I'm a Malfoy. That means something, in certain circles." He frowned. "Family pride, _blood pride_, is a staple of Slytherin house. And we're all only looking out for ourselves."

"So?" asked Ginny arrogantly. "Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"

"No, you idiot," Draco retorted irritably, "I'm just trying to explain to you why my father would find out about this. Your family… _you're not one of us_. You're muggle-sympathizers, and by talking with you I'm besmirching my family name."

Ginny couldn't help but say something. "Just so you know," she added hotly, "it's not like _my _family would be thrilled to see I've been hanging out with _you_."

"You don't get it!" Draco cried. "By doing… this thing, whatever, with you, I'm compromising my family's position." He scowled. "My father would do anything to be the Dark Lord's right hand man when he returns to his full power. And that means keeping tabs on me, to make sure I don't do anything to make him look stupid. And _correcting_ whatever behavior he sees as unfit."

Ginny gritted her teeth. "So this—this _invitation_," she said, "what is it, then? Seems to me like he's getting awfully chummy."

"I don't know what he's going to do," said Draco. He put his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I don't know. But it's going to be part of the correcting, believe me."

Ginny took a minute to let everything sink in. Draco's father had been informed about their relationship. _Friendship_, she sharply corrected herself. He felt it was undesirable because it did not conform to behavior fitting a Death Eater (or, in Draco's case, possible future Death Eater). He wanted Ginny to come to the manor on Christmas Eve, for some unknown but possibly terrible… uh, thing.

"What if I refuse to go?" she asked. "He can't make me, after all. My parents wouldn't allow it anyway."

"Then he'll find some other way to get the message across," said Draco. His voice sounded deflated. "If you don't come, he'll assume I didn't tell you, and therefore disobeyed his wishes. And I'll be… _corrected_." Draco rubbed his left forearm. It seemed to be an unconscious act, but to Ginny's watchful eyes it revealed what he was really afraid of.

"The Mark," she said softly. "You think he'd make you do it?"

"He's been hinting at it, yes," said Draco. "For the past year now. And you saw the letter. This surprise… it's the Mark. I know it is. I thought they were going to wait until graduation, but I guess they've decided to speed things up a bit."

Ginny was silent for a moment, mulling things over. She put Draco in danger. They were a danger to each other. So—"What if we just walked away?"

Draco furrowed his brow and looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, walked away?"

"Walked away." Ginny gestured to the air around them. "From here, now. What if we walked away from each other, stopped meeting here, stopped talking. We'd only see each other in potions, and even then we don't even really have to speak to each other."

Draco sneered. "I don't see what good that would do."

"I do," retorted Ginny. "We make all this go away. Make it seem like this really was nothing. Tell him whatever you want – tell him you were just using me for, you know, _physical stuff_." she shrugged. "Shouldn't be a hard sell, not with the rumors I've heard about us lately. Whoever's been telling your father about what you've been doing won't have any more fodder. They might even mention that this has stopped. Maybe your Father will ask you about it and revoke the invitation once he sees there's nothing going on."

Draco scowled. "I don't think he'd do that."

"But you don't know, Draco," she said, his given name spilling from her lips unconsciously, naturally. "You can't know, not for sure. And if it's in both our best interests, if it will protect us from him…" she shrugged. "Isn't it at least worth a try, then?"

Draco bit his lip. He picked her quill up off the table and played with it. "Is that what you want, then? Really?" he asked, his voice cool and collected. His face was a blank mask, with the exception of the little oblivious nibble at his lower lip. He didn't look at her, only stared at the quill in his hands as if he were examining it.

Ginny made an indistinct noise in the back of her throat. "I don't think I've ever gotten anything I really wanted," she said bitterly. "But I think… I think this is the best, for you. For us."

"Fine," said Draco. His face revealed nothing about what he was thinking. "You're probably right." He turned and shouldered his backpack. He quickly turned back around. "Take this," he said, reaching into his robes with his right hand. He withdrew one more of the small medicinal vials and held it out to her. "Sorry. I only brought the two. I didn't think you'd break them."

She reached for it, and as she took it her fingers brushed over his briefly. He pulled his hand away. "See you Thursday," he said indifferently, and then turned and walked away.

Ginny stood, blinking, and watched him go. She sighed. It seemed like they were always watching one or the other walk away.

Her fingers itched where they'd touched him.

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A/N: A big thank you once again to those who've reviewed, added me to their various alerts, and those of you who simply have stumbled along for the ride. Thank you for your patience as I get these longer chapters out.


	10. The Darkness Drops Again

_The Widening Gyre, Part 10: The Darkness Drops Again  
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Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J.K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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Ginny was, quite frankly, flipping her shit.

She'd torn apart her school bag, upended the whole thing and shook it out. The ink-stained parchment scraps and chocolate frog wrappers mingled with her textbooks and stray potions ingredients and created a mosaic of Hogwarts life on her scarlet-and-gold bedspread. Harry's cloak had been folded and placed neatly in her dresser drawer; it was when she was putting it away that she realized her quill was missing.

After she'd finished with her bag, she'd moved on to her trunk. Robes, dirty socks, old copies of _Witch Weekly_ and _TeenWitch_, a sneakoscope, one of her mum's revolting Christmas sweaters – they were strewn about the floor, thrown every which way in a whirlwind of searching. The place had been ransacked and looked very much like Harry's dorm had when she'd raided it her first year, looking for her diary.

Her diary, the object that'd started it all.

She sat down heavily on her bed and sighed, running her left hand through her tangled hair. She'd looked in every possible place where it could be, but she hadn't found it. Perhaps it was time to accept that it was, in fact, lost.

_It's just a quill_, she told herself. _Get over it._

It wasn't just any quill, of course. It was her favorite quill, the fine eagle-feather quill her father had given her when she first started Hogwarts. The quill she'd used to write Tom, those lonely tear-filled nights so many years ago. Ginny closed her eyes and swallowed roughly. Just having it near her made her feel closer to him. Not horror-him, not the Tom that'd filled her nightmares lately, the one who showed her blood and gore and dead relatives. The _real_ Tom, the one she'd talked to, the one who listened to her, comforted her, _loved her_.

She kept it with her always. When her classmates would comment on its ragged appearance, she would simply shrug and say it was her favorite. They just wrote it off as another one of that Weasley girl's many quirks and forgot about it. She still used it; not for schoolwork, or she'd have sharpened it down to nothing by now, but just for jotting down quick personal notes. Most recently she'd been using it in the library when she researched her curse.

_The library_. Ginny frowned. That was the last place she'd seen it, wasn't it? She recalled the scene with no amount of pleasure. She thought of the look on Draco's face as she smashed the vial of Dreamless Sleep against it; she thought of how he'd refused to look her in the face as he asked her if she was sure they shouldn't see each other again. He'd only stared at the quill in his hands.

Ginny bolted upright. It was _her_ quill he'd picked up off the table! She retraced the events of the night before – he'd given her the potion, then turned and walked off. She, sullen and resigned and with her thoughts no longer on her work, had stuffed her parchments and books into her bag and came back up to the tower. She didn't remember putting the quill in her bag and had been too distracted to notice its absence.

She stood and waved her wand about, irritated. Her belongs flew haphazardly back into her trunk, and the lid slammed shut. She did the same to her bag, performing a quick _scourgify_ to get the stray bits of trash off her blanket.

There was no use in seeing Draco now. The letter from Lucius had surprised her, and it made her more uneasy than she'd be willing to admit. No need to read too much into it; how would Lucius know what had transpired between her and the Dark Lord? No, surely the missive was just a coincidence. Surely. She and Draco had just been spending too much time together, that was all. Draco would say whatever he needed to appease the man, things would cool off, and everyone would forget about the whole situation.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all she had to go on. And running off to see Draco today certainly wouldn't help it along. Ginny kicked her bed in annoyance.

_Of course…_ Ginny glanced over to her dresser, to the drawer in which Harry's cloak lay. He wouldn't miss it one more day, surely.

It was settled then. In the evening, after classes, she would find Draco and make him return her quill.

She just had to survive without it for the hours between now and then. She sighed and grabbed her bag, heading out of the dormitory. She had enough issues in her life already; there was no sense in being late for Herbology too.

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_We're in this together now, Malfoy._

She'd said it just before they'd infiltrated the library together. Draco snorted in disbelief, a habit he must have unconsciously picked up from her.

_Together_. Obviously that wasn't the case anymore.

Draco rubbed his left forearm nervously. He wasn't a fool. Even if Ginny thought that by avoiding Draco she could take herself out of the equation, there was still the curse to contend with. Draco'd never been good at divination, but he had the uneasy feeling that he would indeed be seeing the Weasley girl at the manor over the Christmas holidays, whether she was there voluntarily or not.

Something life changing. A Death Eater initiation; the Dark Lord's return to power. As a son of the Malfoy family, Draco knew where he was supposed to fit into the equation: lined up with the other young witches and wizards of Slytherin house, ready to be branded with the Dark Lord's seal and stand behind him as they blasted through muggle hamlets, wreaking havoc and killing mudbloods. It was the madness he'd been raised to believe in, the madness that would save them all and restore them to their rightful place in the social hierarchy. He was pureblood; he was better.

He'd known whom the muggle was, the one that had been laid out on the table in the Malfoy's grand dining hall and eaten by the snake Nagini. He was a boy, a few years older than Draco, who lived in the village at the far side of where Malfoy Manor's park ended. Draco had met him in the woods one day when he was young. His parents had been called away for a few days on business and had left Draco in the care of the Manor's house elves, and Draco had used this rare freedom to wander the woods around the Manor. The boy, Dickon, had been snaring rabbits. He spent the week amiably teaching Draco how to do the same.

But then Father had come home, and Draco'd been too scared to go into the woods again, for fear of what would happen if Father found out about the friendship. Fear for himself, and fear for the boy, too. So while Draco would occasionally see Dickon about the village when the family deigned to ride through it, he pretended not to recognize him. Dickon, like most of the villagers, had heard the unsettling stories about the strange family that lived on the hill, and seemed to know better than to greet Draco in his father's presence.

But it hadn't helped. Dickon had still ended up, somehow, on the Dark Lord's dinner table – probably by the mere misfortune of being a muggle living in the vicinity of the manor that the Dark Lord had basically claimed as his own. The Dark Lord liked to claim things.

That must have been how Ginny fit in. She'd had the misfortune of being touched by Him, and with that touch she became His. She could avoid Draco all she wanted, but he suspected he, in truth, could not dissuade the Dark Lord from summoning her to his side.

Draco thought of the look of terror in Dickon's eyes as the snake slithered toward him. He could see the boy struggling to scream. Draco imagined Ginny in the same position and shuddered.

She could tell herself whatever convenient little lies she wanted, but when it came down to it a curse was a curse, and just wishing it away wouldn't work. Draco fingered the tattered eagle quill that lay on the cold stone workbench before him. He suspected there were secrets in this quill, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he unearthed them.

Draco was in the dungeons; specifically, he was in the out-of-the-way classroom he'd followed Ginny to weeks ago. Spread in front of him were several things: Ginny's eagle feather quill, his potions kit, and a vial of Darkness Detection Compound he'd filched from the samples the class had bottled for Snape.

Draco picked up the quill and examined it carefully, turning it one way and then the other. He recalled his conversation with Snape; if, as he suspected, this quill was one that Ginny used to write in Tom Riddle's diary, and if the enchantment lay within the ink, as her story made it seem, then was it not possible to remove the enchantment (or at least lessen its impact) if the ink was removed from her possession?

He frowned. The theory presupposed a lot of things, most notably that whatever still seemed to have a hold on Ginny was the result of an active enchantment to which she was still being exposed. The potion and her own thoughts proved she was still under some sort of dark magic (Draco suddenly recalled the image he'd seen in Ginny's mind, of Tom Riddle bending down to kiss her. He hadn't brought it up at the time because it was so disturbing he wasn't sure what to make of it).

He couldn't do anything to help break the curse until he knew what was causing it _(Fine, fine, I want to help the stupid chit,_ he begrudgingly admitted to himself. He still, however, refused to acknowledge any reason for such behavior, nor any reason for the lock of hair that'd remained in his pocket for the last few weeks). He hoped that a piece to the puzzle might lie in her tattered old quill.

Withdrawing his knife from his pocket, he brought it to the nib of the quill and carefully scraped at the specks of ink that had dried on it. Then, remembering Ginny's pureblood crack, he narrowed his eyes, withdrew his wand, and said _abradere_.

A small pile of black ink dust stood on the table before him. Draco peered at it scrupulously. It looked mundane enough. Most of it would be recent, but with powers as strong as the Dark Lord's it was possible that an enchantment may still remain in the residue of ages-old ink. Draco flicked his wand casually and divided the pile into three smaller ones. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, so he didn't want to ruin his samples all at once.

He used his wand to send one of the samples into a beaker and picked up the vial of Darkness Detection Compound. He knew how it was supposed to work on human subjects, but he wasn't sure what would happen if it were used on an inanimate magical object. Carefully, he used his wand to mix in a little water he'd carried with him in his spare flask. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, looked at the two remaining piles of ink dust, and shrugged. He tipped a few drops of the Compound into the beaker. He held his breath.

And waited.

And after a few minutes, admitted to himself that nothing happened.

_Damn._

_Scourgify_, he muttered, cleaning the beaker. Well, that didn't work. Either the answer wasn't in the ink, or the Compound just wasn't meant to be used on inanimate objects. What now?

Draco froze as he heard a rustling near the doorway of the classroom. He turned slowly, straining to see what the noise was. As his eyes landed on a small mouse darting toward the corner of the room, he smiled darkly. He grabbed the beaker and cried "_Accio mouse_!" The mouse squeaked in terror as it came zooming across the empty classroom. It landed with a heavy _thud _in the beaker Draco held.

Draco grinned triumphantly. "_Petrificus totalus_," he said, freezing the mouse in place. He took the second pile of ink scrapings, mixed it with water, and stopped. How was he going to insert the ink into the body of the mouse?

Squeezing his eyes shut, he thought hard about the Hogwarts kitchens, a place he became intimately familiar with after spying on those oaf-like twin brothers of Ginny's three years back. He visualized the cupboard of pastries and muffins the house-elves kept on hand for stray students who dropped by for a cup of tea. His favorite, the cheese danishes, were usually on the top shelf, to the right of the cherry pastries. He held the image of the cheese danish firmly in his mind, waved his wand, and opened his eyes.

And there, on the workbench before him, sat three-fourths of a fresh cheese danish. It was the first time Draco had tried that particular charm—_accio_ would have surely brought him the entire pastry, but it wouldn't do to have a danish zipping down the corridors and leading every curious student or staff member to this particular classroom. Three-fourths was certainly an improvement over the nothing he'd been half-expecting to see; however, he smirked, he was _Draco Malfoy_ after all, and managed to excel at most things he put his mind to.

He tore off a piece of the danish and used his knife to slice down the side of it, and then awkwardly poured some of the ink mixture in the slit, spilling most of it down the side of the danish in the process, and followed with a few drops of the Darkness Detection Compound. He shrugged; it was about as good as he was going to get it. He put the piece of pastry in with the mouse. "_Finite incantatem_," he said and watched the mouse spring to life again. It ran the circumference of the beaker three times before it stopped, its long whiskers twitching violently. It turned and finally realized the presence of the danish. The mouse ran toward it and seized it eagerly with its tiny paws, ripping off small chunks and shoving them in its mouth.

Draco watched with anticipation as the mouse demolished a sizable portion of the pastry. Then all of a sudden it stopped.

Draco held his breath.

The mouse dropped the small piece of pastry it held, took one shuddery breath, and fell over.

Draco blinked blankly. He picked up his wand and gently prodded the mouse with it. It didn't react. It was, most certainly, dead.

"Shit," said Draco, feeling the tiniest bit of remorse for the creature. He looked around and found a spare piece of parchment. He transfigured it into a crudely constructed cardboard box. Reaching into the beaker, he gingerly picked up the mouse by the tail and laid the body into the box gently. He waved his wand to banish the remains of the danish and accidently knocked over the vial containing the remains of the Darkness Detection Compound.

He didn't have time to react; he could only watch in horror and dismay as the stolen potion flooded down the length of the workbench and saturated his notes, the remaining pile of ink flakes, and Ginny's precious quill.

As the Compound made its way toward the quill, it seemed to speed up. It soaked into the quill and almost seemed to be absorbed by it. Draco, puzzled, reached out to touch it, but stopped as the quill began to glow with a ghostly brilliance. Pale green steam issued forth from it, the tendrils wrapping lazily around each other and forming a skull. Another tendril wound its way through the others and, in the shape of a snake, unrolled through the mouth of the skull.

"Well, that was interesting," said a bemused voice from behind him. Draco jumped, and his elbow knocked the dead mouse's box to the floor. He quickly spun around and was greeted by air. Of course, he didn't need to see her to know she was there.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" he asked quickly.

The air shimmered as she pulled the invisibility cloak away from her body. Her hair was mussed and she looked a little flustered. Draco couldn't ignore how her eyes glittered as if with fever, and he found himself frowning. "I came to get that back," she said, pointing to the quill that lay on the workbench. "But now I'm not so sure I want it."

Draco glared at her. "Thought you didn't want to see me anymore," he said poisonously. "And just how did you find me anyway?"

Ginny shrugged. "The same way I knew you were in the library, I guess. I just sort of know, in here." She tapped her chest. "I don't know why. I just thought about you and started walking, and my feet led me to you." She shifted uncomfortably as Draco stared at her.

Ginny took a few steps closer to him, paused, and looked down at the floor. "What'd you do to him?"

Draco bent over and picked up the dead mouse. "Casualty of research." He put the mouse back in the box. "I was going to bury it after I finished up here."

Ginny looked at him curiously. "Bury it?" she asked skeptically. "Why? Can't you just banish it or something?"

"I prefer a more personal touch," said Draco dryly.

"Mmhmm," murmured Ginny, obviously intrigued but choosing not to remark upon it. "So, what just happened, exactly?"

"With the quill?"

Ginny huffed impatiently. "Yes, with the quill! What else would I be asking about, the rat?"

"Mouse," corrected Draco. "And have some respect for the dead! He arrived at his current state as a direct consequence of aiding in the research of your curse." Draco brandished the box at her. "If anything, you should thank him."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Whatever. What was that you dumped all over the place? It looked like Darkness Detection Compound."

"Right in one, Weasley," replied Draco. "Good to see your potions ability hasn't disappeared with your decision to avoid me."

"I'd still be avoiding you," Ginny said, glaring at him, "had you not stolen my quill last night and given me a reason to come looking for you!"

"Regardless," said Draco loudly, changing the subject, "what we just saw was obviously some sort of reaction the Compound had with your quill."

"Obviously," repeated Ginny sarcastically, but she eyed her quill warily. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"A theory," said Draco, "but nothing… _solid_." He stared thoughtfully at the quill.

Ginny waited patiently. Then, as it became apparent that Draco was not going to elaborate, she exploded. "Well, what's the theory, then?" she demanded with annoyance. "Care to share, or shall I just return to my dormitory and await self-destruction?"

"_Temper_, Weasley, _temper,_" Draco chided. He gave a mock sigh. "You know, manners matter. You catch more flies with honey, after all."

Ginny gave him a disgusted look. "Could you be any more cliché? And really, you're lecturing me about temper when you're the one who blew up on me at the library yesterday?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know to what you're referring." Draco waved his right hand lazily. "Anyway, there's a theory McGonagall mentioned in Transfiguration last year – she probably hasn't gotten to it in your class yet – about magical transference."

Ginny looked thoughtful. "How parts of enchantments can attach themselves to objects, even if the initial enchantment has been lifted? You think that's what happened here? How?" she asked. Draco gave her an appraising look. She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid. Surely you've realized this by now?"

"Right…" said Draco, turning back to the still-glowing quill. He poked it with his wand. Nothing happened. "This is the quill you used to write in the diary with, yes?"

Ginny stared at him. "I never told you that," she said slowly.

Draco exhaled impatiently through his nose. "Yes, but poor as your family is I'm sure you could at least afford a new quill. I assumed you were hanging on to the grotty old thing for some sort of sentimental reason. And after seeing your thoughts the other night, I figured the diary had something to do with it."

"I'm going to ignore the remark about my family for now, Draco," said Ginny pointedly, " but I'll remember it for the future. And what exactly in my thoughts made you think I'd want anything else to do with that diary?" Even though she said the words forcefully, she'd gone pale as she spoke, and her freckles stood out on her skin like measles. Her expression was carefully disdainful. Draco had no doubt she knew exactly to what memory he was referring.

Draco took a deep breath and thought how best to phrase his words. "You saw what I saw," he said carefully. "And you know I saw him, from your nightmares. Coming toward you. _Kissing_ you. And you didn't seem to be turning him away." He looked at Ginny's face for her reaction.

Ginny swallowed as her facial features fluttered, betraying some internal struggle. She looked away from him.

Draco took a step closer to her. She flinched, but didn't move away. "After what we've revealed to each other," he said sternly but not unkindly, reaching out as if to guide her face back to his but not touching her, "I thought we were going to be honest with one another. There's no point in lying now."

Ginny whipped her head around to face him. "Honest? You want honesty?" she said, and she let out a bark of a laugh. "Honestly, I think anyone who found out about what's going on in my head would find me _fucking crazy_." She crossed the small space remaining between them and stared into his eyes defiantly. "Every day, I feel like I'm about to split in half. I want the nightmares to stop, Draco, because every time I see him it hurts. It hurts to want him so badly and to know that he's, quite literally, killing me."

Draco clenched his jaw. So what he'd seen in Ginny's thoughts, Tom Riddle kissing Ginny – it was true. And he'd felt what she felt, felt that frightening, stomach-churning guilty _need_ for him. He shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing even though he knew it to be true.

She was standing so close to him he could feel the heat from her body. If he wanted to, all he'd have to do was lean down just a few centimeters to place his lips against her soft, quivering pink ones. His mind's eye saw a dark-haired young man with a serpent's smile do the same.

He shook his head and raked his hand through his hair in a gesture of confusion. "I just don't understand. You… love him? You love him. That's twisted. That's sick. He possessed you, Weasley! He tried to kill you! He's a monster. How could you love a monster?"

Ginny's eyes widened with anger, and she reached out with her two hands and shoved them into his chest. He stumbled back a step, shocked. "I didn't fall in love with a monster," she said hotly. "I never knew a monster. All I knew was one person, the only person to ever listen to me and take me seriously. I'm the youngest of seven; do you think anyone had time for me, really? No," her voice was bitter, "I poured my heart into that diary. I gave him my heart, and it nearly killed me. And now…" She held her hands palm up in defeat. "And now, I don't know what to do." That fevered glimmer flared up again in her eyes, turning the irises a brown so dark they were almost black. "I have this thing inside of me," she pounded her chest viciously with her left fist, "and I'm just waiting until either I just _snap_ or until… until he calls me to him."

Draco didn't know what to say. He could only remain silent, staring at the inferno that stood before him.

"So don't you dare judge me, Draco Malfoy!" Ginny cried angrily. "Don't you dare judge me! Just give me back my quill and let me be done with you!" She stepped toward the workbench, but he grabbed her by the arms and stopped her.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Draco said, holding tightly to her arms as she tried to push past him. She wasn't very strong, but she was determined, and he was having a hard time holding on to her as she writhed in his grip.

"Fuck off," she spat at him, wrenching herself loose. She lunged toward the table.

Draco whipped his wand out and pointed it at the quill. "_Incendio!_" he shouted.

"NOOOOO!" Ginny screamed as she attempted to grab the quill through the flames. And then, just as suddenly, she cried out as if in pain, clutched her chest and fell to the ground.

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_He was angry._

_Ginny had never seen him angry before._

"_What have you allowed to happen?" he demanded harshly of the girl who lay crumpled before him._

_Ginny was a shivering pile on the freezing stone floor of the Chamber. Tom was standing above her, leaning down over her, his handsome features twisted into a mask of pure hatred. A tortured sob erupted from her mouth._

"_Stupid, foolish girl!" shouted Tom. He withdrew his wand and pointed it at her. "CRUCIO!"_

_And she was screaming, her voice ripped away from her throat, leaving in its wake fire and pressure and pain. She was burning and drowning and pulled apart and crushed and stabbed with thousands of knives. She was a pillar of fire and brimstone; she was a thousand tiny pieces of shattered glass; she was nothing. Ginny didn't exist anymore; all that remained was pain._

_And then it stopped. She almost fainted with relief, but Tom grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to a half-standing position. "Don't even think about it, you stupid little brat," he hissed. His eyes glowed red like two burning pieces of coal. "What happened? Who did this to us?"_

_Ginny could only cry messy sobs that left tears and mucus and spit dribbling down her face. She shook her head no. Tom shook her roughly. "TELL ME!" he demanded. She shook her head again and twisted it away from him._

_He threw her to the ground, and Ginny cried out as her body smashed against the frigid stone. He squatted next to her and grabbed her face, squeezing it and forcing her to look into the sulfuric depths of his eyes. "I was the only one," he said slowly. She tried to shut her eyes but he violently shook her head until she opened them again. "I was the only one," he repeated, "who loved you, Ginevra. Who could ever love you. And now, you've ruined everything."_

_He threw her face aside and fingered his wand. He used it to slowly stroke her left cheek. His eyes were tiny slits, and a menacingly smile grew across his face. He licked his lips. She shuddered and tried to crawl away from him. He stood up and laughed; it was a high, cold laugh that worked its way inside her head, shrill and vibrating like a ringing bell. Ginny's eyes went wide and rolled in their sockets like those of a spooked horse._

"_It doesn't matter, now, my darling," he said, still laughing as she clawed the ground in an attempt to drag herself across the stones toward the far side of the chamber. "I've got you now." He tapped his chest with his wand. "I'm looking forward to finally seeing you face-to-face, my little red rose."_

_And he continued to laugh his horrifying specter's laugh as Ginny sobbed and finally gave way to the cold and the blissful, blessed darkness._

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She was screaming.

No, she wasn't screaming. She was shrieking the terrified, high-pitched shrieks of an animal in pain, and they made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand straight up. She thrashed about wildly on the floor, her back arching and flexing and her arms twisting up around her chest. Here eyes were half-open and blinking wildly.

Draco stood over her, frozen. His heart was pounding frantically and painfully in his chest, and he found he couldn't even breathe. _Oh god_, he thought. _What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?_

There were footsteps, footsteps pounding rapidly down the corridor. And suddenly in the doorway stood Professor Snape, an anxious expression on his face. Draco couldn't say anything, but he didn't need to. Professor Snape ran into the room and stood over the girl.

"What happened?" he demanded of Draco. "What did she take?"

"N-nothing! She didn't take anything!" said Draco quickly. "It was that!" He pointed to the smoldering remains of Ginny's eagle feather quill that lay on the table. "I burned it, and this happened!"

Snape kneeled down next to her. "Hold her down!" he ordered. "She'll hurt herself! No, don't worry about her arms. Help me roll her over. Now, pin her down with your knees. Careful, not with your full weight, just enough to stop her from thrashing about."

Draco did as instructed. He placed his knees on her chest. In the back of his mind was some feverish, wild giddiness at being so close to her breasts (_You think she'd let me get close enough to touch her?_, his own words to Snape echoed in his head), but it was choked down by the icy block of fear that sat in the pit of his stomach.

Snape pulled his wand out of his robes and waved it over Ginny, chanting line upon line of complicated incantations that made the air thick and heavy with the scent of magic and caused the back of Draco's tongue to taste strongly of copper. He used his wand to trace the outline of several runes on the girl's forehead.

Finally, she stopped writhing, and her eyelids fluttered. Snape unceremoniously pushed Draco to the floor and bent over the girl's face. "Miss Weasley?" he asked anxiously. "Can you hear me? Miss Weasley?"

She looked up, once, and then closed her eyes again, unconsciousness falling across her like a heavy curtain.

"We have to get her to the Hospital Wing," said Snape urgently. "We'll take her to my office and Floo." He waved his wand. "_Mobili-_-"

"I'll carry her!" Draco shouted, knocking Snape's wand away and stepping in front of Ginny's body. "I'll carry her, it's safer. Please, no more magic. She can't take it!" He was half-afraid Snape would curse him for having the audacity to question his methods, especially given the situation.

Snape stared at him for a few seconds in a penetrating, calculating manner. Draco's chest felt tight with anticipation and worry. Then, Snape nodded his assent. "Hurry, then," he said.

Draco kneeled down and scooped her up carefully. She lay limply in his arms and was surprisingly light and unnervingly cold. He carefully angled her head to lean against his shoulder. Her tousled red hair tickled his throat and smelled like flowers and limes. He was extra cautious of her left hand, which was shiny red and blistered along the lengths of her fingers.

Once they got to Snape's office, they flooed to the Hospital Wing, Snape throwing in the required ashes so Draco wouldn't need to let go of Ginny. He'd tumbled out at the far end of the wing, Ginny's weight throwing him off-balance and causing him to go sharply down on his knees.

Madam Pomfrey immediately accosted him.

"Merlin's beard, Draco Malfoy! Have you finally killed her, then?" Luckily, he was spared explanations by the arrival of Professor Snape. They saw the girl to a bed before Madam Pomfrey turned on the two men and demanded answers. Snape pulled her aside to chat privately. Draco stood and leaned over Ginny's bed. Her face was streaked with tears, and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps.

Draco reached out with shaking fingers and smoothed her hair away from her forehead. Then, before he realized what he was doing, he leaned down quickly to kiss her wrinkled brow, his lips barely touching her skin. He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against hers for a brief moment.

He turned to find Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape staring at him. Draco blushed. Madam Pomfrey was red-faced and positively scandalized, but Snape only looked at him again with that irritating, inscrutable gaze. Draco set his jaw and stared defiantly back.

"Eight-o-clock sharp, tomorrow morning, Dumbledore's office," said Snape abruptly. "I've a world of questions for you, Draco. Be prepared to answer them." And with a flick of his robe he was storming out the doors.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. "I need to fix her hands," she said. "And I'll be giving her a sleeping draught and notifying her brother." She pursed her lips. "Thank you for carrying her," she said succinctly. "You'll be going, then?"

Draco drew himself up to his whole height and set his features into the hard look of obstinacy and indignation that caused the Malfoy Manor house elves to run in fear. "I'll stay with her, thank you," he said coldly, tilting his chin up.

Madam Pomfrey was _not_ a woman to be trifled with. She took a deep breath, looked him in the eyes, and was about to give him a lecture befitting the most rampant troublemaker when she paused. He'd never know it, but underneath the conceit and tenacity of his expression lay a foundation of fear, and Madam Pomfrey found herself sighing inwardly and taking pity on him. That emotion in his eyes, combined with his chalk-white face and the fingers that trembled almost imperceptibly and wound themselves unconsciously in the locks of red hair that lay splayed across the pillow, caused the old nurse to shake her head reluctantly.

"Fine," she said. "Come to the office with me and help me get my supplies."

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Her eyelids fluttered, and she couldn't see clearly. Colors and shapes swayed back and forth above her. Eventually all the shapes stopped moving, and she recognized soft golden hair and a pair of alarmed grey eyes.

The next thing she recognized was Professor Snape's hooked nose.

"Miss Weasley?" he asked anxiously. "Can you hear me? Miss Weasley?" His greasy hair hung close to her face, and her nose filled with the sharp tang of anise and pepper.

_Oh, fuck. Fat's in the fire now, isn't it?_ she thought. And then, because she could do nothing else, she drifted back into the darkness.

The second time she woke, she felt a soft bed beneath her. She tried to move her arms but found she couldn't. Her left hand was bound in white gauze and smelled sterile like medicinal cream. She heard voices. It sound like… it sounded like her brother. It was Ron. And he was shouting.

_No surprise there_, thought Ginny wryly.

She heard another voice. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone sounded cool and reserved. Her brother started yelling again. Ginny frowned.

_Not like anyone's trying to get some sleep or anything_, she thought angrily.

_Sleep…_

And then her eyes opened a third time, and there was light, and she found she could move her limbs again. She sat up, blinked, and looked around, taking in the sharply creased folds of the bed sheets and the blue-and-white pajamas she was surprised to find herself wearing. Her hand had been unbound, and it was soft and pink with new skin. Tall white curtains shielded the rest of the Hospital Wing from view.

Ginny was confused for just a moment, and then slowly recalled the events leading up to the current moment. Groaning, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the overstuffed pillow.

_Shit. Secret's out now, eh Ginny?_

The curtains flew open. "I thought you'd be waking up soon." clucked Madam Pomfrey. "You gave us quite a scare, young lady."

"What time is it?" asked Ginny. She had gone to see Draco in the evening, but now the soft glow of daylight was filling the room.

"Nearly noon," said Madam Pomfrey. "On Thursday."

Ginny goggled at the nurse. "Thursday?" she repeated. "Thursday? I slept through a whole day?"

"Day and a half," said the nurse. "As I said, you gave us quite a scare. Mr. Malfoy especially. I don't think I've ever seen him look that rattled, not even when he had his arm ripped open by that hippogriff!" She narrowed her eyes and peered imperiously at Ginny. "Didn't you say the last time you were here that you weren't having anything to do with him anymore?"

Ginny shrugged. "Oh, you know, things change, teenagers, hormones, whatever…" she mumbled, trailing off incoherently.

Madam Pomfrey sniffed superciliously. "I'm not here to judge you," she said condescendingly. "But regardless, I'm sure he'll be pleased to know you're awake."

"Oh, I'm sure." said Ginny sarcastically. She winced as the words left her mouth; she hadn't intended to say it out loud. Madam Pomfrey fixed her with a stern glare.

"I'll have you know he was here during lunch yesterday and all last evening. He refused to leave until your brother and Harry Potter showed up."

Ginny looked up, surprised. She found herself blushing, and her heart fluttered, but then sunk as she remembered the circumstances surrounding their last conversation. "He left when Ron came?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"I kicked all three of them out after they started a huge row in the middle of my examining room!" snapped Madam Pomfrey, looking extremely harassed as her cheeks reddened. "I told them I would update them on your progress, and that they could only return if you specifically asked for them, and then only one-at-a-time. I don't need them in here causing a fuss and making you over-exert yourself. You need _rest_, dear."

Ginny laughed humorlessly. "Tell me something I don't know."

Madam Pomfrey's face softened just a bit. "I think perhaps _you're_ the one who needs to be telling _us_ a few things."

Ginny flushed. She twisted her fingers into the soft gray blanket that covered the bed and looked out toward the window.

"Physically, at least, you're fine," said the nurse. "You had some surface burns on your hand – Draco said you tried to grab a burning quill?" She looked at Ginny sharply, but Ginny chose to thoroughly inspect the curtains instead. "But I bandaged them with some salve, and they healed up overnight. As far as any _other maladies_ are concerned," she fixed Ginny with a meaningful look, "there are still some things that need to be illuminated."

Ginny bit her lip and nodded. Madam Pomfrey reached down and patted the girl's hand. Ginny held herself stiffly, unused to such impulsive gestures.

"You don't have to talk today, not if you don't want to," she said kindly. "I've told everyone to leave you alone until you're ready."

Ginny looked back to the nurse. "Everyone?" she asked.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Yes. Your brother, Harry, Draco, and Professor Snape."

Ginny paled. "Snape wants to talk to me?"

"_Professor_ Snape has requested a word with you, yes. He and Draco were the ones who brought you here. They said you were having some sort of screaming fit in the dungeons, and then you fainted."

Ginny groaned, closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead. "Great. Just great."

"Now, Professor Snape is staff, so as long as there's no valid medical reason for you not to see him, I can't stop him from talking to you. But I can ban the others from coming if you want me to. Katie Bell also dropped by to see how you were doing. She brought you those." She pointed to the small nightstand next to Ginny's bed. On it sat the latest copy of _The Quibbler_ and a battered paperback titled _The Baron's Broomstick_. The cover featured a dashing wizard with blonde hair who held a swooning, busty redheaded witch in his arms. Ginny couldn't help but smile; no doubt it was the older girl's version of a joke.

"So," continued Madam Pomfrey. "Shall I allow the boys or not? Of course, visitation rights do fall under my discretion, but I thought I would allow you some preference over who comes storming in here, particularly after their appalling display last night!"

"Um, they can… they can come," Ginny said, somewhat reluctantly. "But maybe not until tomorrow." Ginny paused. "Well… Draco, he can come tonight. You know, if he happens to stop by," she amended, blushing.

Madam Pomfrey arched her eyebrows at Ginny inquisitively, but tactfully chose not to comment. "Very well," she said. "I think you should rest a while longer, but I know Professor Snape is quite anxious to speak with you. He insisted I don't do any of my own magic-related injury examinations until he's through with you." Here she sniffed, obviously disapproving of the request. "Do you think you'll feel strong enough to speak with him this evening?"

Ginny gulped nervously. Her emotions must have shown on her face, because Madam Pomfrey smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, dear. I'm sure you haven't done anything wrong."

Ginny let out a small laugh. _You've no idea…_

Madam Pomfrey retreated to her office and returned with a now-familiar vial of opaque white liquid. "This will give you a few more hours' rest," she said. "I'll tell Professor Snape to come this evening. Be a good girl and drink it all."

Ginny didn't need to be told twice.

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A/N: It's been slow going but I assure you this fic is still very much in progress. Thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing, and thanks for your patience.

Nutmeg44, you're a good guesser ;)


	11. Most Serious Interviews

_The Widening Gyre, Part 11: Most Serious Interviews _

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J.K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.

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Draco liked to fancy himself a rebel.

When the rules were made by an incompetent cabal of circus animals such as the professors at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco didn't feel the need to follow them. Draco was a Malfoy; as such, he was leagues above his professors socially and possessed more natural magical talent than they could even begin to _dream _of. When scolded, he'd laughed in Professor Sprout's face. He'd openly flaunted his magic in the corridors in front of Filch, knowing the old man could do nothing to stop him. The staff was only made the more ridiculous by their twinkling, bumbling Headmaster.

But now that he found himself face-to-face with Dumbledore himself, he found his bravery quickly dwindling.

Dumbledore possessed quite a threatening stare for one who usually held himself so jovially.

He sat behind his desk with his long fingers clasped together, and he peered at Draco over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Snape sat companionably next to Draco, his chair turned so he could face the boy and the Headmaster at the same time. Draco appreciated this tiny show of solidarity.

Dumbledore picked up a round dish from his desk. The lid was patterned with a nauseatingly cheerful chain of daisies. He removed the lid and offered the dish to Draco. Inside were several sticky-looking round yellow candies. Ever the child of good breeding, Draco reached in tentatively and plucked out one of the candies.

"Thank you," he said coldly. He popped the candy in his mouth and rolled it around his tongue. Instantly, he felt more relaxed. He looked suspiciously at the Headmaster and raised one thin, silver eyebrow.

"Lemon balm and lavender?" he inquired.

Dumbledore grinned. "Professor Snape told me you were quite skilled at identifying potions ingredients, Draco. It seems he was not mistaken."

Lemon balm and lavender were common ingredients in most relaxation potions. Obviously the Headmaster wanted Draco to feel comfortable enough to speak with him. Draco did not appreciate his autonomy being thus usurped.

Dumbledore offered the dish to Snape, who declined. "You should try them, really, Severus. I'm sure you'd like them."

Snape fought back a sneer. "Thank you, Professor, but you know my stance on sweets."

Dumbledored smiled indulgently. "Very well, then." He placed the dish back on his desk, and then returned his gaze to Draco. "So," he began calmly, "Professor Snape told me you helped save Miss Ginevra Weasley from some sort of… attack?"

Draco adopted a look of complete innocence. "He did, sir?"

"_Draco_," Snape said warningly. Dumbledore just chuckled.

"Yes, Draco, he did. I was hoping you could be so kind as to explain to us the particulars of the episode in question?"

Draco stared at the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore stared back serenely, his dancing cornflower eyes nonchalant, as if the three men were amiably discussing the weather or this year's Quidditch prospects. Draco didn't trust the expression. He knew there was much more working beneath the surface than the man let on.

He focused his mind and began probing, sending tiny exploratory tendrils of magic from his mind to the Headmaster's. He found his way inside the man's thoughts and looked around. He saw the ocean and a sandy little strip of beach. The sun was high above him; it must have been around noon. Draco turned around and jumped at the sight of Professor Dumbledore wearing muggle shorts and an obscenely-colored floral shirt. Dumbledore smiled.

_I'm sorry, Draco, but I hope you'll understand my desire to keep my thoughts to myself._

And Draco blinked and was back in the office.

"Impressive," mused Dumbledore. "Severus, did you know Draco is a legilimens?"

Snape turned to Draco, mild surprise showing on his usually stoic face. "No, I did not," he said. "Did Lu—your father-train you?"

Draco didn't say anything. Professor Snape had proved himself to be a must trusted advisor in the past. He helped Draco take Ginny to the hospital wing after her episode in the dungeons. And yet, and yet…

He formed a picture in his mind: Snape sitting next to the Dark Lord at the Malfoy's grand dining table, the muggle boy on the table before him. He concentrated on Snape's face, bringing it to life in his memory, and used all his power to transmit that picture into Dumbledore's mind.

Dumbledore's eyes widened for a moment. Then, turning to Snape, he said with a passive voice, "I'm afraid Draco may have discovered your little secret."

Draco's mouth fell open in shock. He abruptly stood. "It's true, then? You work for Him?

"Draco—"

"And you!" He turned on Professor Dumbledore. "You knew? You _already_ _knew_?"

"Draco," replied Dumbledore carefully, "Draco, please, allow me to explain—"

"Explain what?" exploded Draco. He pointed dramatically at Snape. "Explain that he's a Death Eater?" His hand was shaking, but he didn't realize it. His face had gone chalk white, and his grey eyes were wide and terrified. He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach; how could Dumbledore have known, how could he have condoned Snape's role in Voldemort's dark fellowship? It didn't make sense.

And suddenly he thought about Ginny, and Ginny's secret, and what the Dark Lord would do once Snape told him what they knew about the curse, and that anything he said now would just dig them both deeper and deeper—

"DRACO," said Dumbledore sternly, standing up. "Please, Draco, sit down and we will explain this to you!"

"_Explain what? Explain that he's a killer!_"

Snape flinched but did not turn away from the scene before him.

Dumbledore's face turned to stone. "If you'll reflect on circumstances, young Mr. Malfoy, you'll find that Professor Snape's efforts toward rescuing Miss Weasley fall far from the domain of that of a killer." His voice was firm, and his casual schoolboy expression had been replaced with one of power and authority. His blue eyes burned electric.

Draco, overwhelmed by this unusual show of severity from the Headmaster, sank back down into his seat. He looked over to Snape. Snape was looking at Dumbledore with his eyebrows raised, as if to say _I told you so_.

"Perhaps, you feel, it's time?" asked Dumbledore, addressing Professor Snape.

Snape nodded. "You know it's been my wish for some time now."

"And you understand the risk involved with letting that sort of information out? What would happen to you if anyone else found out about it?"

Snape nodded.

"What's going on?" Draco interrupted. He looked at Snape. Snape's arms were crossed, and mouth was set into an obstinate thin line. He was looking at Draco critically.

"What you saw was true," said Professor Dumbledore slowly. "Professor Snape is acting as a member of the Death Eaters. He is doing so at my personal request and at a great risk to himself. He is acting on my orders, as my eyes and ears, and has been giving me valuable insight into the Dark Lord's plans for the past two years."

"W-what?" asked Draco anxiously. He looked from Snape to Dumbledore and back again.

Snape still sat with his arms crossed. "To put it simply," he said. "I'm a spy."

"A spy?" asked Draco, obviously confused. "But how is that even possible? Father says the Dark Lord is the most accomplished legilimens of our age!"

_Forgive me for speaking ill of your father,_ Snape's voice drifted through Draco's mind slowly like smoke rising from a stick of incense, _but he has a tendency to exaggerate, particularly where the Dark Lord is concerned._

Draco blinked. "So, you're not, you're not—"

"A killer?" interrupted Snape. "No, I am not." He paused for a moment before asking, "Are you?"

"_Me?!_" repeated Draco, taken aback completely. "Are you nuts? I don't want anything to do with that—that _freak show_! He's insane!"

He abruptly stopped talking. Besides his little tête-à-tête with Ginny, it'd been the first time he'd ever admitted how he felt about his family's involvement with the Dark Lord to another person, much less two men as imposing as the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his Potions Professor-slash-right hand to the despised Lord himself.

He looked carefully at the two men in front of him. They stared back at him, both sets of eyes as inscrutable and impassive as a long-forgotten desert sphinx. It was Dumbledore who finally broke the silence.

"That puts you in quite a unique position, does it not, Draco?"

Draco scowled. "What, reluctant slave to my father's sycophantic ramblings? Wand fodder for the Dark Lord?"

"Perhaps you should try viewing your situation from a different vantage point," said Dumbledore, twirling his wand and making three heavy mugs of steaming tea appear on his desk. With another small wave, two of the mugs floated toward Draco and Snape and hung in mid-air until each decided to take them.

Draco wrapped his fingers around the warm mug and scowled darkly into the swirling brown liquid. "I don't see any other views," he said bitterly. "When it comes down to it, it's kill or be killed, isn't it?" He flicked his gaze over to Snape. "You watched him murder that boy. You watched and did nothing as that snake slid across the table and ate him alive."

Snape's mouth pressed itself more firmly, his lips disappearing altogether, before he deigned to make a response. "I am required to keep up certain appearances in order to foster the Dark Lord's trust," he said smoothly. His eyebrows clenched together over his brown, glittering eyes. "Unfortunately, part of my role entails not leaping to the immediate defense to any poor soul with whom the Dark Lord crosses paths."

Draco exhaled roughly threw his nose and continued to stare broodingly into his tea.

"Draco," said Dumbledore gently. "Have you expressed these… _opinions_… to anyone else? Made any remarks, in passing, which one could construe as being anything less than loyal to your family's intentions?"

Draco shrugged contemptuously. "I'm not stupid, am I?" he retorted. "Think I'm trying to get myself accosted in my own common room?"

"_Draco_," Snape said warningly, his tone admonishing his young pupil at his attitude toward the Headmaster.

Dumbledore, choosing to disregard this case of adolescent aggression, asked another question. "And what about Miss Weasley? Have you shared any of these thoughts with her?"

Draco looked up from his mug and narrowed his eyes at the Headmaster. "What makes you think I would tell her that sort of thing?" he asked defensively. His fingers tightened around his mug until his knuckles turned white. "She's a Weasley, you know how our families are. I can't have anything to do with her."

Dumbledore smiled sadly, the expression not reaching his eyes. "Another complication, I'm afraid, and one with which only your heart can advise you." Draco glared at Dumbledore as the old man took a long sip of his tea. "But we are not here to mercilessly probe the inner secrets of your heart, Draco; Professor Snape and I merely hoped we could create an idea of the direction in which you'd like to lead your life. I think, perhaps, we've seen a glimpse of that direction."

"What, straight down about three meters in a box?" Draco spat spitefully. He drank his tea, grateful to have something to do other than feel himself examined by the Headmaster's disconcerting gaze. The tea warmed his insides as it worked its way down his throat, and he felt himself relaxing back into his chair. He sneered. Lavender.

"You have a choice, Draco. It's a tough choice, but it's yours to make." Dumbledore drank again from his mug before continuing. "I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. To be perfectly frank, it's an extremely difficult and dangerous favor, and if you don't feel comfortable undertaking this task for me, that's perfectly understandable, and we can finish our conversation now." Dumbledore paused, allowing the idea to sink in.

Draco didn't need the Headmaster to spell it out for him. He unwrapped the long fingers of one hand from his mug and gestured toward Snape. "You want me to do it, too," he said simply. "This double-agent thing."

Dumbledore nodded. "I can't expect you to agree to such a mission," he said. "But I am asking. Professor Snape has informed me that there is to be some sort of meeting over the Christmas break. Have you heard of such a meeting?"

Draco laughed sharply. "Yeah, I have," he grimaced as he swigged the remainder of his tea. He took out a handkerchief to wipe away the liquid that had remained clinging to the fine blonde hairs that had recently started straggling their way across his upper lip. "Father wrote to me. Said he was throwing a party. Told me it would be _life-changing_." He tucked the handkerchief away and stared back down into his now empty cup. He closed his eyes. "He said _she's_ supposed to be there."

"Miss Weasley?" asked Dumbledore. He didn't seem to be surprised. He steepled his fingers again and narrowed his brow critically. "Your father has specifically requested her presence?"

"Not by name." Draco shifted uneasily in his seat. "He said he and mum want to meet my new girlfriend. _Not that she's my girlfriend_," he amended quickly, "and since they never seemed too interested before, I can only assume they've heard who she is. Not that, you know, she's anything to me. But I guess people heard all those rumors and have been talking." He leaned over and set his empty mug onto a small round table near his chair. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared dolefully at the front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Do you think there's any reason her presence would be so anxiously desired?"

Draco bit his lower lip. Hell yes, there was a reason, but it was Ginny's reason, and he'd promised not to say anything about it. Plus there were the limitations on what he could say, thanks to using that damn tongue-burning curse.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. "Draco," he began, his voice calm and unusually gentle. "There were traces of dark magic all over her. Powerful magic, the kind that only one wizard I know of is capable of producing. And with the questions you asked me at our previous interview, we can't help but wonder if you are withholding some possibly vital information from us. Perhaps, with this information, we can help to save her from whatever is about to happen."

Draco begrudgingly brought his eyes to Snape's. His professor was looking at him with an expression he'd never seen on the man's face before – it was a mixture of fatigue, of pleading, and regret. It was the face of a man haunted, and it was the first time Draco had ever seen Snape looking so… well, _vulnerable_.

"There is something," he began, picking his words carefully so as not to divulge anything that might make Ginny hex him for later. "But it's her story, really. I'm just a bit player, and I don't think I have the authority to tell you what it's all about. Nor would I want to betray her trust."

Dumbledore nodded. "A diplomatic answer, and one which we will respect. But I would like you to be present tomorrow evening when Professor Snape and I go to the hospital wing to discuss the matter with her. Will you consent to this?"

Draco nodded. Then, with more anxiety than he would have liked to have shown—"Do you think she'll be awake by then, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Madam Pomfrey has assured me that the patient should be sufficiently recovered by that time. But for now, we must let her rest, and I ask that you think hard about what we've discussed here today."

Draco nodded. Dumbledore finally excused him, and Draco found himself bolting down the stairs from the Headmaster's office, not stopping until he reached the bottom and turned the corner. He leaned back against the cold stone of the wall and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to try and control his riotous heartbeat.

His eyes sprang open has he heard the steady sound of footsteps making their approach. It was a few seconds before Professor Snape's tall visage rounded the corner and stood before Draco. The older man tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on the shoulder of the younger. Draco, much to his surprise, realized he was only a scant three centimeters shorter than Snape.

"Things are going to be very difficult for you," said Snape awkwardly, evidently not used to sharing his feelings thus. "But please know that I am here, Draco, and I will do my best not to let anything happen to you."

Draco's throat constricted, and he suddenly didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded, his lips pressed tightly together and his face pale.

"Dumbledore has arranged it so that you have a terrible stomach ache this morning, so Professor Sprout is aware you are unable to attend her class." Snape, his face still belonging to the sad young man Draco had seen in Dumbledore's office, attempted a smile. "Use your time wisely." He released his grip on Draco's shoulder.

Draco nodded again silently. He turned to go, his feet unconsciously taking him down the right corridor, away from the dungeons and in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

Snape remained standing in the hallway, staring at Draco's retreating back until it disappeared around another corner. He went to the left, down to his office, his mind full concerns for his young pupil.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o

Her hand was small in his hand. Her bones felt hollow, like a bird's, and her skin was several shades paler than his own. There were no freckles, but on the back of her left hand was a small round mole underneath her index finger.

Draco was in the Hospital Wing, sitting next to her bed, the conversation he'd had the previous morning with Snape and Dumbledore still fresh in his mind. He felt his insides squirming around nervously. Would she be angry when she woke? Angry that he'd had to get help, had her problem brought to the attention of the headmaster?

He frowned. It's not like he had had a choice! They forced it out of him!

Well, maybe not forced. To be perfectly frank, it was almost a relief to have someone push him and prod him until all those doubts and fears he had inside welled up to the surface and streamed out of his mouth. To have someone who wasn't possessed by the very man he feared above all, that is.

Draco wasn't a fool; Dumbledore, crackpot he may be, was actually a very powerful wizard, and it didn't hurt to have him in your corner.

Ginny turned in her sleep. Draco stared.

When she wasn't scowling, or shouting, or cursing him, she actually looked peaceful. Serene, even. Her features had a subtle prettiness about them that usually wasn't revealed when she was angry—which seemed to be most of the time.

Draco had admitted to himself that he thought she was beautiful, but in a sharp, violent sort of way. Beautiful like a particularly skilled hit of a bludger or a house that's burning down.

This never-before-seen softness fascinated him. Even when she'd been asleep at the library, her face had been drawn tight and haggard by her nightmares. Now, though, under the influence of Madam Pomfrey's medical potions, her face relaxed, and he was able to appreciate the gentle curve of her cheeks and brow, the softness of her mouth, the way her chest rose and fell calmly, naturally.

Draco wasn't relaxed. On the contrary, this sudden tenderness he found sprouting in his chest was, if anything, completely unnerving. Save for his mother, Draco had long ago given up on having the freedom to look upon anything fondly. He had hobbies, and he had things that amused him – sleek new broomsticks, smooth liquor, girls faster and more scantily-dressed than they should be – but the thought of admiring, of _liking _something, had been out of the question since he'd been old enough to kill.

He bit his lip and stared hard at the sleeping face that lay on the pillow before him. Somehow, in the short span of the last five weeks, she'd managed to burrow into his brain and set up a home there. Unfortunately, there were no signs she'd be moving out any time soon.

Her eyelids quivered slightly, and her eyes slowly opened. They look around, confused for just a moment, before fixing on Draco. She smiled slowly, drowsily; the potion not yet worn off. A look of confusion flitted across her face, and she looked down the bed to where his fingers folded with hers.

Draco, realizing what she was looking at, pulled away abruptly as if her touch burned him.

"You're here," she said. It wasn't a question. "So I haven't scared you off, then?"

Draco smirked. "A few dizzy spells, some screaming, a seizure – what of it? Takes more than that to scare a Malfoy." He leaned back in his chair. "I noticed that Madam Pomfrey wasn't letting that animal you call your brother in, but I didn't seem to have a problem squeezing by. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Ginny scowled. "She said you guys had a big fight in here last night." She eyed him warily. "I notice you don't have any new bruises."

Draco laughed. "Weasley seemed to think all this was my fault." He gestured at the bed. "Don't know _how_ he would have gotten that idea."

"Not like you put me in here last time or anything."

"Well, technically, the last time you were here you were experiencing a self-induced nosebleed. So I didn't put you in here _last time_."

Ginny smiled half-heartedly. "True. But anyway, yes, I told Madam Pomfrey not to let anyone else in."

Draco smirked again and examined his nails in an exaggerated manner. "So I get special privileges, then?" He flicked his eyes to Ginny.

The ghost of her smile danced across her lips. "Well, every time we stay away from each other, we just keep coming right back." She frowned. "You're sort of, you know, _involved_ in all this. You've a right to know what's going on."

"Ah, yes," replied Draco, retaining his arrogantly detached composure. "About that…" He bit his lip. "Uh, Snape… and Dumbledore… well, they asked me some questions. About _all this _I didn't tell them anything, though. Not about you."

Ginny sighed deeply. "I figured as much. Madam Pomfrey said Snape wanted to talk to me."

"Both of us, actually," said Draco. "They asked me to be here, too, tonight. It's why I'm here right now. I didn't want to be late, so I thought I'd come," he consulted his wristwatch. "An hour early."

"So you wouldn't be late," repeated Ginny.

"Exactly."

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment. She turned her head and looked out the window. The sky was a deep mauve. It was nearly twilight.

"You okay?"

Ginny turned back to stare at him. "Draco Malfoy," she said, "are you actually inquiring about my general well-being?"

Draco glowered. "Come off it," he said. "It's a valid question. The last time I saw you doing anything besides sleeping was when you were flapping about on the floor of the dungeons screaming like a cat getting its tail chopped off."

"Valid point," said Ginny. "I guess I'm just surprised, that's all."

"What? Surprised that such a heartless bastard like myself could ever give a damn about anyone else?" Draco demanded bitterly.

Ginny snorted. "That whole 'woe-is-me' misunderstood thing is more Harry's game, don't you think?"

Draco groaned. "Can we _not _talk about Potter? It's bad enough everyone else does."

"Okay," said Ginny. "What about what you told Dumbledore?"

Draco frowned. "I'm sure we'll go over that when Snape gets here."

"O_kaaaay_. What, then?"

Draco looked over at her bedside table. His eyes focused on the copy of _The Quibbler_. "Really, Weasley, you don't read that tripe, do you?"

"What?" asked Ginny, following his gaze to the magazine. "Oh, that." She grinned. "Why not? You don't find it to be a stimulating read and reliable source of hard facts?"

"The only thing I find it reliable for is swatting at spiders in the dungeons," he replied. His eyes flicked to the lurid cover of the paperback book, and he grinned lasciviously. "Something else to keep you occupied?" Before she could snatch it away, he'd leaned across the bed and grabbed it off the nightstand. Her hands shot out and grabbed hold of the cover, but he wrenched it out of her grasp. He opened the book to a random page and stood on his tiptoes, holding the book aloft with his left hand and using his right to swat away at Ginny, who was frantically clawing at his sleeves.

"_Bosom heaving, the young maiden Isadora glared at her captor, the dread Pirate Roberts. 'Do with me what you will,' she cried, arching her chest in a defiant manner and causing the fabric of her bodice to strain and tear, displaying her ample cleavage. 'You may defile my body, but I will never tell you the location of Count Rolando's secret treasure!'_

_The Pirate Roberts grinned and stepped closer to his panting captive. 'I may defile your body?' he repeated, his eyes flashing dangerously down at her. He took one hand and drew it slowly across her cheek, then lowered his lips to her ear. The soft puff of his warm breath sent shivers down Isadora's spine. 'As the lady wishes…' he whispered, bringing his lips toward hers."_

Draco peered down at the invalid. She sat up against her pillows, her arms crossed and face the same crimson as her hair, her mouth clamped tightly shut. She glared up at him, her eyes narrowed and hard, and in that moment she looked so remarkably like a weasel Draco couldn't help but lean his head back and laugh aloud. "Really, Weasley, in the entire canon of English literature, surely there's something a tad classier than _this_."

"Katie dropped it off," replied Ginny sharply. "As a joke." She tried to grab the book again, but Draco held it just out of reach. He grinned, enjoying teasing her when she wasn't in a position to retaliate. He flipped the book closed and looked at the cover.

"She's got good taste, though," he mused. "Is that the pirate? Look at that hair – no wonder she's so desperate to be defiled."

"He's a blonde," said Ginny contemptuously. "I'm quite partial to dark hair, myself. Dark hair, and as for the eyes… maybe green…"

Draco's chest thudded uncomfortably, and his fingers clenched around the book. He felt heat rising in his face. He narrowed his eyes, and turned to say something extremely rude to Ginny when he realized she was smothering a giggle behind her hands. "You're laughing at me!" he said indignantly.

She stopped trying to hide her mirth. "You would've, too, if you had seen your face. Looked like you'd swallowed a bucket of bubotuber pus. The only other person I've ever seen turn that particular shade of purple is Ron."

Draco snarled at the reference to her brother, and was about to let out a nasty retort when he was interrupted by the arrival of Professors Dumbledore and Snape.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Weasley, I do hope we're not interrupted anything too… _stimulating_?" His eyes sparkled as he peered at the cover of the book Draco held. Draco, red faced, threw it at Ginny who, with a face equal to Draco's, hastily shoved it under her pillow.

"Of course not, Professor," said Ginny, her face still glowing with embarrassment. "We've been waiting for you."

"Ah, yes. Please, sit down, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said to Draco, who was still standing. Draco sat in the chair next to Ginny's bed and Professor Snape used his wand to draw up two more for himself and the Headmaster.

"I hope I am not mistaken when I say it seems you're feeling better today, Miss Weasley?" inquired Dumbledore, smiling down at the girl in the bed.

"No. I mean, yes, I'm better," stammered Ginny, her nerves getting the better of her. She'd never been the direct recipient of the Headmaster's attentions before – even after recovering from her ordeal in the Chamber, he hadn't stopped by to visit her. He'd been far more interested in Harry's view of events. Probably because he had actually been conscious at the time.

"I'm pleased to hear it. So, let's get right down to business, shall we? Poppy, won't you join us?" Dumbledore clasped his hands together lightly. "According to Professor Snape, you had quite an incident the other day. Would you care to share your version of the tale?" He was still smiling, and his gaze revealed nothing of his thoughts.

Ginny swallowed nervously and looked sideways at Draco. Her left hand twitched against the hospital sheets. Draco fought the sudden urge to take her hand in his.

"Well, professor, as you know, I was possessed by Tom Riddle my first year at Hogwarts." She flinched, embarrassed. Of course he knew.

Dumbledore nodded kindly. "The logical and most serious beginning of the story."

"Well, ever since then, I've been having… dreams. Or nightmares. Well…" she trailed off uncertainly. "I'm not sure what you'd call them."

"And these are different experiences than your times of possession?"

"Oh, yes, quite different!" she said. "When I was possessed, I couldn't remember anything. I'd wake up and not know how I got there, and I couldn't remember anything for hours. It was just… just dark. Blank. But these…these are fully realized visions. Well, not visions, since they're dreams, but, oh, you know…" She looked at Dumbledore imploringly.

Dumbledore waved his hand lightly. "A mere issue of semantics." He looked at Ginny with a gentle but slightly stern expression. "Miss Weasley, I know this request may seem a bit personal, but would you be willing to describe these dreams to us?"

Ginny's face flushed. Draco knew why; he was certain that, had he been in her position, he'd not want to reveal the sordid details of his nighttime dirty deeds with certain dark wizards either.

She took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I've been having them ever since my first year, even after Harry destroyed the diary. I'm always in the chamber, with Tom. In the beginning, he was always so… so _kind_, like he was when I first started writing to him." Her eyes started to glaze over. "He still listened to me, and he told me all sorts of wonderful things about myself. And I still trusted him, even though part of me didn't want to, because of what he'd done to me. But then I would tell myself that it hadn't been Tom, not really, it had all been You-Know-Who, and maybe because Harry destroyed the diary that he wasn't really a part of it all anymore. That maybe the part of You-Know-Who had been destroyed, just leaving me with _Tom_."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised slightly at the feverish way in which Ginny said the boy's name.

"And then, as I got older, well, the dreams, they… they _changed_." Ginny blushed and looked away from the three men who surrounded her.

"A natural result of your maturation, I'm sure, and nothing to be ashamed about," Dumbledore quietly reassured her.

"Um, anyway, the longer the dreams went on, the worse they got. He… he wasn't like he was, before. It's like there's something he wants from me, and now he thinks he can get it so he doesn't have to be kind anymore. And then, a few weeks ago, he… he put something _inside of me. _An object."

"You didn't tell me that," said Draco abruptly, leaning back into his chair and away from her. "Why didn't you tell me that when you told me everything else?" He felt Snape reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I, well, I just didn't," she said lamely, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. "Anyway, it was a disk. A small, flat disk. I think it was black. And it felt heavy and cold, like stone."

"A small black stone?" Draco asked, his heart sinking. He held out his left arm and used his right hand to tease the cuff down to his wrist. He pointed to the black onyx cufflinks his father had gifted him. "Did it look like this?"

Ginny gasped. "That's it exactly!" she exclaimed. "But where did you get them? How did you know?"

Draco grimaced. "My father sent them to me as an early birthday present. He claimed they were just family heirlooms." Ginny's excitement faded away.

"Do you think there's any chance of this just being a coincidence?" she asked. Her expression suggested she feared the worst.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Knowing the source of these, the unhappy answer is probably 'no'. Miss Weasley, did your behavior change at all after the insertion? Did you think or feel any differently about anything?"

"No," she said uncertainly. "Not that I can recall."

"Yes, it did," Draco interrupted again. "When you found me in the dungeons, you said you just knew where I was. How can you explain that unless it was something magical?"

Dumbledore nodded. "A charm, perhaps, drawing you two together. Which would seem plausible, given the apparent desire to have you both in attendance at Malfoy Manor this Christmas." He paused, seeming to lose himself in thought for a minute, before he continued. "Mr. Malfoy, would you mind allowing me to borrow your cufflinks for a short time?"

"Of course not, Professor," he said, reaching down and undoing his cuffs. He handed the small black stones to Dumbledore, who put them in an inside pocket of his robe.

"So, you've given us some pieces to this puzzle, but you've yet to tell us how you managed to nearly kill yourself the other night. Perhaps between the two of you, you could tell us the story?" Dumbledore asked the question lightly, but his eyes pierced through to the very hearts of both students as he looked at them.

"You start, Draco," said Ginny, twisting a corner of her covers nervously with one hand. "You were the one who was, uh, _experimenting_."

Draco cleared his throat nervously. "Well, uh, Professor Snape, perhaps you may recall our previous conversation we had in your office?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, your questions regarding love potions and free will." His face was characteristically devoid of expression. "I was particularly interested in your theories about transference via ink-and-quill…"

The tips of Draco's ears turned pink. "Yes, well, it was that hypothesis which I thought I'd investigate. I managed to acquire a sample of what I suspected to be an ink-based love potion of some sort—"

"Acquired?" asked Ginny incredulously. "Stole is more like it!"

"…acquired," continued Draco smoothly, "and I wanted to run some tests on it. The reaction to the Darkness Detection Compound was most interesting. But then I was interrupted by Ginny, who took it upon herself to dismantle my experiment."

Ginny scoffed. She stuck her nose in the air and, ignoring Draco completely, focused on the two men sitting next to him. "I came to retrieve my belongings, that happened to take the form of a particular favorite quill, and which Draco proceeded to destroy during the course of our interactions."

"Destroy?" asked Dumbledore.

"_Incendio_."

"Ah. And I take it that was what sparked Miss Weasley's episode?"

Draco nodded. "As soon as it started burning, she grabbed at it and screamed and then collapsed. And after that Professor Snape showed up."

"And I suppose you know the rest," Ginny sighed. "Anything else? Questions, comments, advice on how not to get murdered by a wand-wielding maniac?"

"I wouldn't worry about getting murdered just yet," said Dumbledore calmly. "After all, we still have a few weeks until Christmas." Ginny and Draco both blanched. Dumbledore smiled cheerfully. "Thank you both for being so honest with us. Miss Weasley, we'll let you get some rest. We'll be speaking with you both again in the time to come, but right now your should focus on your recovery. Severus?"

Both men stood up and bid the students goodbye. Draco let out a low whistle. "Well, that was relatively painless. I wonder what bright ideas Dumbledore is going to come up with?" He turned to Ginny, who was glaring at him as if he'd just slapped a child. "What's wrong with you?"

"Thief," she said, narrowing her eyes. "How dare you steal my quill, Draco Malfoy!"

"What? It was making you crazy! If anything, I saved you from it!"

"Oh, that's big of you," she spat. She turned in her bed, showing him only her back. He snorted.

"Thanks, Wealsey. I was getting sick of your face."

She whipped back around. Her eyes were shining, and her face was turning red. "You insufferable prat! Would it kill you to be polite for once?"

Draco laughed. "You're already sounding like your old self. You'll be out of here in no time." His eyes twinkled dangerously, and he leaned over the bed and reached toward her. Ginny's mouth opened slightly, her breath coming in short nervous gasps. Draco, his face centimeters away from hers, slipped his hand under her pillow and pulled out _The Baron's Broomstick_.

Ginny sniffed in irritation as he leaned back in his chair. "You're an invalid," he said, smirking and flipping the book to a random page. "You shouldn't get so worked up. Let me read to you and soothe your shattered feminine nerves."

"I'll shatter your stupid face," mumbled Ginny crossly. Draco laughed and started to read.

o. o. o. o. o. o. o. o.o o. o. o. o.o .o o. o. o. o

o. o. o. o.o o. o. o. o. o.o .o o. o. o. o. o.o .o o

o. o. o. o.o o. o. o. o. o .o.o o. o. o.o .o o. o. o .o

A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. If you spot any continuity errors, please let me know in the comments or send me a message. Big thanks to all of you who've commented, added this story to their favorites, etc.


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